A Season of Change
by BaiLing1521
Summary: Remus and Sirius are dads! But now they must race to save Remus' life from a devious plot at the Ministry and rescue their baby--Slash Chapter 18 is up!
1. The Decree

A Season of Change

Chapter 1

The flickering of the two ivory pillar candles cast long shadows on Remus' face as he leaned down and worked a wrinkle out of the tablecloth. His brow furrowed as he glanced up at the clock on the wall, each second ticking by relentlessly like a pounding drum in his head. The dinner he had carefully planned with the assistance of one of Lily's recipe books lay forgotten on the sideboard, the meat cold and the haricot verts limp.

Standing, Remus shoved his chair forcefully away from the table and stalked into the living room, his black silk robes swishing angrily around his ankles, brushing against the doorframe in passing. Pausing, he curled his lip and turned to pull the sliding oak doors shut. He certainly didn't want to look upon the special feast he had lovingly prepared for his lover. _Such ingratitude_…

The faded rose chintz armchair beckoned him and the hissing of the embers shook him into focus. Sighing, he picked up the heavy tome he had laid aside earlier that afternoon and progressed slowly to the chair, picking up his reading glasses off the mantle. "Dust…" he muttered, dragging a long smooth finger across the wooden surface. "I ask for one simple thing and he drags the task out until it _never_ is done." 

"Moony!" Remus spun around, crashing into the solid man standing next to the fireplace. _And he has the audacity to smile_… _and those damn blue eyes!_ "Aw… don't look at me like that, Moony!" Sirius tossed a rolled-up piece of parchment onto the sofa and quickly moved to unfasten his heavy wool cloak, Remus' eyes narrowing slightly as ash fell to the carpet.

"Listen," he breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath is great gulping bursts. "I just finished speaking with Jamison over at the Ministry. I meant to contact you but we got wrapped up and I didn't know when you were going to be home—Jamison rambles insufferably, did you know? I mean, that guy could talk a house elf to death and—oh…" Remus raised one sleek eyebrow and pointed silently to the closed doors, his eyes impassive pools of gold. Sirius peered closely trying to ferret out any of the usual sparkle that he had grown accustomed to seeing upon arriving home to his lover. Frowning, he moved quickly to the doors and yanked them open impatiently. 

"Ah… Moony, love, I really—" Sirius's broad shoulders slumped and he fingered his collar nervously. Crossing his arms, he slowly pushed his hands into his cuffs, a habit he had never outgrown and one that Remus usually found endearing. "Okay, I was a little late—three hours late—" he amended as Remus' eyes flashed daggers, "but I can explain. Here, sit." He pulled Remus by his shoulders to the couch and pushed him down none too gently in his agitated state. Remus gingerly pulled out the parchment he crushed and laid it in his lap.

Sirius knelt down next to the sofa and lifted bright sparkling eyes full of ill-contained excitement. "Jamison says that we can meet this weekend with the Infant Wizard Protection Agency! He said that we have clearance—I turned in the paperwork, we have our recommendations, and Moony! Oh my god, do you realize what this means?" Remus' eyes went from being bright with anger to wide-eyed astonishment.

"Do you mean…" he whispered shakily.

"We've done it, Moony!" Sirius snatched the parchment from his shocked lover. Cracking the wax seal he agitatedly unrolled the decree. "Damn it all, stupid bloody—"

"Are those the clearances? Are those the _papers_?" Remus stood, his heart pounding furiously within his chest, threatening to break through in his anxiety. He pressed himself closely to the figure still fumbling with the parchment. "Let me see, Sirius!" The two men gripped the decree with trembling hands and with bated breath read the words printed in the Ministry's neat official scroll.

The Infant Wizard Protection Agency

(IWPA)

Herby decrees that one

Mr. Sirius Black

And one

Mr. Remus Lupin

Have officially been granted permission to bring into their sole custody and care

One wizard infant whose age shall not exceed five years and whose

Parental figures have relinquished all claims from here forward 

To the well-being of said child. 

It shall also be duly noticed that the prospective parents are to be charged with the task of

Providing all means of home, education and nurturing befitting a wizard child

And if found negligent will be brought before the Ministry to determine fitness of care.

A three month trial period shall be executed once the child is transferred to its new environment and bi-weekly visits shall be duly performed by a registered IWPA caseworker until said period is complete.

Your license number is: SBRL 3205324

Please sign this notice and bring this to your appointment on 

Saturday, September 28 at 3:00 pm.

Sincerely,

Margaret Lancaster

Deputy Caseworker, IWPA

Remus spun Sirius around frantically. "Is this true? Saturday is only three days away! We were told that this could take months… years! What are we going to do about a room? We don't have a crib, we need to infant wizard proof the house—and you!" At this he broke off and spun around staring at Sirius who was doubled over with laughter. "You wanted to name the child Eustace! I won't have it, Padfoot. It's an atrocious name—"

Sirius choked back his howls of laughter and raised his hand to stop Remus from completely tousling his already mussed hair. _Although, he does look kind of sexy when he's agitated_… He snapped to attention and grasped Remus' shaking hands in his own damp palms. "Moony, the crib will wait. We can check the safety of the house and erect all the necessary charms in the morning. However, the name issue needs to be decided up _now_." He frowned, a look of seriousness belying the twinkle in his eyes arising from a desperate need to rile his mate. "Eustace is a very solid, noble name. After all, with two fathers named Remus and Sirius, don't you think a good old fashioned name will suit?"

Remus shifted his fingers so that he grasped the other's hands firmly. "Eustace reminds me of something that would come out of someone's nose. I will not subject our child to that. Besides, I have been thinking lately that a little _girl_ might be nice…" 

Sirius choked in disbelief. "A—a—girl? But what use would a girl be?" 

Remus frowned. He had only been partially serious, but when Sirius took on _that_ tone… "I actually thought a little girl would be lovely. We don't often get the chance to have a bit of feminine influence—and no, Sirius! My mother's old chintz chair certainly does not count!" He continued in a mild tone, "I would love to have a daughter. Just think, a little girl who will run and cuddle with us, who will smile adorning at her daddies and pick us daisies to make into crowns, who will turn to us for affection…" his eyes became bright with emotion. "Sirius, she would be so sweet."

"Yeah, and she will want us to play tea party and will wear those bloody hair things… and the color pink, Moony!" Sirius protested loudly. "What fun will she be? It'll be just our luck that we'll get one who doesn't even like to _fly_ much less has an aptitude for pulling pranks… What kind of example will it be for Harry when he has children if the last surviving Marauders raise a bloody girl?"

"She'll be our little Marauderette and we can guide her to be a wonderful little witch who is not afraid to assert one—_ahem_—or two pranks on deserving individuals," Remus said thoughtfully. "Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she can't be strong and wise, and _fun_. Yes, Padfoot, fun. Plus, I've always been partial to the name Elizabeth."

"We haven't decided on _anything_, Moony," Sirius growled. He stomped to the fireplace in frustration. "We decided a year ago that we wanted to raise a child. I—I just want to do it right." Remus watched him cautiously. "I'm just afraid. Before we got the summons it just didn't seem real and now…" He turned, his shiny black hair sticking up in all sorts of wild positions. "What if we mess up, Moony? What do two old bachelors like us know about children? I mean, look at how well we have done with Harry." 

Remus smiled and moved to join him. "Hush, love. We've been through this. Harry needs our love and help in so many ways, but he's already reaching adulthood—we can only help him move forward and bestow upon him all of our fondest memories. This little being will be completely impressionable to all that life offers, and you know what I see, Sirius?" Sirius shook his head numbly and Remus continued firmly, "I see two men who know what it means to love unconditionally, who would walk through fire for each other, and who will impress upon a child what it means to be part of a family. Morals, Padfoot! These children starve for affection and we shouldn't be afraid to share a part of ourselves. I'm scared, too, but Padfoot I have waited my _entire_ life to share my love and wisdom with someone desperate for affection. And you want this, too! I see it in your eyes." Remus shook him slightly, his eyes growing bright once again. "Padfoot, we need to share ourselves with someone… and don't ever be afraid that you'll have to do this on your own. I'll _always_ be here with you."

Sirius smiled at his lover, his own blue orbs shining brilliantly with unshed tears. "I love you. You know that, right?" Sighing, he bent to pick up the discarded parchment. "So, Elizabeth, is it?"

"Or some other appropriate non-boogey sounding name."

"What do you think of Elizabeth for a girl and Maximillian for a boy?"

"Maximillian, huh?" Remus smiled.

Sirius blushed. "I've always liked the nickname Max. And you can't deny that Maximillian has a certain, um, _imposing_ sound to it."

Remus took Sirius hands in his and ran his thumbs lightly over his palms. Raising his lover's hands to his lip, he gently kissed each one. Laughing, he gave him a little push before wrapping him in a strong embrace. "Maximillian is a beautiful, non-boogey name. Oh, Sirius, we are going to have a child!" Sirius' grin nearly split his face. 

"Shall we celebrate properly, Moony? After all, come Saturday I hardly think we are going to be getting a lot of sleep. And perhaps we better practice our silencing charms again…" He led his mate to the stairwell. 

"Celebration sounds fine to me, love. Shall I just see to starting the infant wizard proof charms—" he teased.

"Don't you dare, you neurotic, paranoid, perfectionist," Sirius growled into his lover's warm mouth. "There is only one thing you are going to start and finish tonight…" He slanted his lips over his mates in a search for that thrill only Remus could give him.

Remus shifted slightly and leaned over to pick up a quill. "Sirius," he broke away, escaping those delectable lips in quick pursuit of his own. "Shall we sign the decree making it official?"

Sirius sobered immediately and stepped to the side table and gently spread out the parchment. "Shall we then?" He watched in bemusement as his hands trembled slightly as the realization of what a momentous moment this truly was hit him. Remus handed him the quill and quickly a bold "Sirius Black" graced the surface. Smiling, Remus noticed that his signature easily took up the majority of the line. He retrieved the quill, and with trembling lip and hand, joined his own name to that of his lover's, binding the two names in their joint venture. A sparkle of silver and gold light flashed as the two names were bound on the magical contract. 

"Doesn't that look perfect?" he murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the two names still shining with amazing brilliancy. Sirius glanced up and placed his arm gently around his shoulder. "Shall we commence with the celebration?"

"All right then, old mate, lead the way."

"Old?" squawked Sirius in protest. 

"Aw… do stop barking, Padfoot." Remus leaned forward and silenced him effectively before guiding him away. 


	2. Reflections

Chapter 2 

Slivers of pale golden light crept between the folds of the curtains, little particles of dust dancing eagerly in the rays. The rug next to the armchair played host to a black robe, two jumpers and two trousers sprawled in an untidy heap.  Various shoes were scattered about the floor and one of the occupants' feet dangled from the side of the bed.  The chamber was completely still, the silence only broken by an occasional cry from a passing bird outside the window. 

Remus laid sprawled across the four-poster bed, a sheet thrown haphazardly across the smooth expanse of chest.  His left arm was flung over his eyes and his graying hair, just the color of a Bernie Botts butterscotch bean, was swept into an untidy mess on his pillow.  His chest rose slowly up and down in the cadence of his breathing and a small smile of one knowing a treasured secret graced his soft lips.  Not a muscle moved on his sleek, slender form as he blissfully slept.

**********

            Downstairs in the kitchen, Sirius hummed as he cast a quick boiling charm on the kettle.  Pulling out a cup and saucer, he quickly prepared a cup of jasmine tea, oblivious to the state of disarray surrounding him.  _Today is going to be perfect, he thought happily as he strode to the back door and sat on the worn stoop facing the grove of trees.  He pulled the tall collar of his dark green jumper up over his nose and stared forward, two sapphire eyes blinking in the morning sunlight.  He wasn't quite sure what was so pleasant about tucking his various body appendages into his clothes.  He glanced down ruefully at his fingertips peeking from the cuffs and gripping the cup and saucer.  It was a habit that he acquired as a child and had never been cured of.  _

            The air was unseasonably chilly for the end of September, but he relished the changing of seasons and the waving in of autumn as summer gracefully bowed out.  He had adored the start of each term at Hogwarts for this particular reason.  The sensation of feeling the weight of the robes as they embraced his tall form and the way his scarf danced jauntily in the breeze as he made his way out to the Quidditch pitch were reminders to him that he was home.  _Ah Hogwarts…  _

            A gentle hooting broke his reverie, and he glanced up in surprise as Hedwig flew in a graceful circle over his head and landed gently on his shoulder.  He set his tea down and quickly untied a note scrawled in an untidy script.  The snowy owl flew through the kitchen window to join their house owl, Corinthian.  

Thursday, September 26th, 7:00 am (_note the time!)_

From: Mr. Harry Potter

To: Mr. Sirius Black and Mr. Remus Lupin

Greetings Padfoot and Moony!       

I've heard through the grapevine at the Ministry that a certain "pack" is going to acquire a "cub"?  Why didn't you guys tell me about this?  Didja know that Hermione apparated directly into my bedroom this morning?  She kept waving her hands around, and the only coherent thing I could get out of her for a full 20 minutes was "new Marauder".  Now you both know she's not one for mincing words!  What's going on?  And is it safe to ask the question, "what is Hermione doing up at 5 am?"

Your very curious godson,

Harry  

P.S. Ginny was visiting—I demand some retribution for the interruption!    

Sirius chuckled at the image of being woken by a frantic Hermione.  _Well, word must be spreading fast!  Jamison certainly can't keep a secret.  He pocketed the missive and moved into the house to write a reply.  Striding across the front hall, his attention was drawn to an ear-piercing shriek from upstairs.  Taking the stairs two at a time, he threw open the bedroom door and froze._

Pecking at the window ferociously were a good dozen owls all tied to rolls of parchment.  The glass pane was raised four inches and some of the more determined birds were struggling to gain access.  Sirius took in the amazing sight of his lover jumping about the middle of the bed pointing his wand at two brown barn owls flapping furiously around his head.  

_He doesn't have a stitch of clothing on…        _

Sirius raised his wand lazily and said, "_Accio birds."  Instantly he was covered in owls of various sizes and color.  He grinned lopsidedly at his lover and placing his hands of his hips, proceeded to walk nonchalantly around the bed.  "Rise and shine, love" he commented cheerily.  Remus groaned and sank back down to the mattress.  Pushing aside the fringe of hair that had fallen into his eyes, he eyed Sirius the bird man and fumbled for his wand.  Peering over the side of the bed, he swept his hand back and forth in search of the recalcitrant wand but only managed to stir up the dust bunnies sleeping in their dark corners.  _

"Dust…" he muttered, thinking to himself.  _Didn't I just have this conversation with myself last night?  _

Sirius stood hungrily taking in his lover's very delectable backside as he squirmed on the bed.  

"Oh, Moony," he sang.  "Looking for this?"  He twirled Remus' wand carelessly.  Remus sat up and made a swipe at the offending object. 

"C'mon, give it here—oomph."  Remus landed halfway off the bed.  Glancing up, he met those irresistible blue eyes sparking with mirth.  A rumble of laughter formed in his chest.  Laughing hysterically, Remus rolled back onto the bed and clutched at his side.  "For Merlin's sake, what a picture I must make!"  Sirius' shoulders began to shake with laughter.  "And don't deny that you were looking at my bum, you rascal!"  Sirius sat down next to Remus and leaned over to join in the fun, a silly grin plastered on his handsome face.  Indignant hoots from the owls perched precariously on his shoulders and head were ignored as he toppled on top of his lover.

Remus looked up at his beloved's face and traced the chiseled jaw with reverence.  "You are going to make a fantastic father," he said softly.  He glanced over his shoulder and grinned as the owls shifted position on Sirius' broad back.  "Umm…" he breathed in deeply, his nose burrowing in his soft sweater.  "I love this sweater…"

Sirius nuzzled his own nose ala Padfoot style into Remus' soft hair, golden strands tickling his nostrils.  "That's because you bought it for me," he chuckled.  Leaning back, he shrugged towards the owls, an eyebrow raised in question.  Remus shook his head and pulled him back down for a deep kiss.  "Later," he whispered.

Reluctantly, Sirius pulled himself out of the warm embrace and sat up.  "We've already received an owl from Harry.  According to him, Hermione apparated into his bedroom around five this morning and interrupted—erm—shall I just say that we have been ordered to make reparations, love."  Remus' brow furrowed.  Sirius leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the worried smoothness.  "I guess our little secret is out…" he choked.

Startled, Remus grabbed the closest parchment.  "It's from Hermione—she wants to know if we have a subscription to _Dr. Zarif's A-B-C's to Raising Infant Wizard Children.  If not she knows the editor at the publishing house and can get us two-years free."  Tossing it aside, he picked up the next letter.  "This one is from Ron.  He says to ignore Hermione's letter because she didn't even take time to properly congratulate us—"_

"And here's one from Minerva: 'Please see enclosed list of proper Wizarding names'—I guess your little dislike of Eustace got around."     

"_Little?" Remus snorted.  "Molly, Arabella, Hagrid, Fred and George—oh no, we need to make certain __they don't get their hands on our little Marauder—Charlie with a coupon for free dragon riding lessons…"  He shuffled through the letters scattered on the bed, his eyes lighting up as he came across one written on very familiar parchment.  _

Sirius peered at it, dropping a letter from Seamus Finnigan on the ins and outs of raising an Irish wizard.  "Albus?"

Remus nodded and cracked the Hogwarts seal.  "He says that he is so proud of us and that he has good authority to believe that we will make excellent parents.  He adds that James and Lily would be so happy to know that the remaining band members are finally going to be fathers…" His voice broke.  Sirius wrapped an arm around his mate comfortingly and continued in his low resonating voice, "The child you will bring into your home will be fortunate to be loved by two of the most respected men I have ever had the privilege of knowing.  The next generation of Marauders is a very lucky group indeed.  I look forward to greeting them in eleven years."

"Them?"

Sirius shrugged.  "Perhaps he's talking about Harry's children as well."

Remus suddenly jumped up.  "Oi!  Sirius, we only have 2 days to get ready!  We need to erect the infant wizard protection charms—"

"Yes, yes Moony.  And we don't have a crib, we don't have this and that.  Molly said that she and Arthur will stop by this evening with loads of baby items.  I think she mentioned they still have the cradle that has a rocking charm on it."

"Two days," Remus sang, dancing to the bathroom.  "Oh, I just can't wait!"

**********

"Hallo!  Sirius?  Remus?  Anyone home?"

"It's Arthur!"  Remus threw down the feather duster and rushed into the living room.  Kneeling next to the hearth, he grinned at the smiling, tired face topped with graying red hair.  "Arthur, lovely to see you.  How are you and the family?"

Arthur Weasley laughed.  "_We are all fine.  What's this I hear about a new addition?  Harry just flooed over and all he can talk about is this new cub that's joining the pack.  Molly has had the boys drag down every carton from the attic labeled 'Weasley Baby'."_

Remus chuckled and blushed.  "Well, we did receive some good news last night from Jamison, who is our liaison with the IWPA—"

"Ah ha.  Jamison.  No wonder word traveled fast."

"Yes, well… Sirius and I have decided that we are going to adopt an infant wizard to raise as our own."  

"Congratulations to you both!  Now this _is good news!  When is the happy arrival day?"  Arthur eagerly leaned his head forward in the flames.  _

"Actually, it's this Saturday."  Remus held up a finger.  "Just a moment, Arthur, if I may…"  He turned to the closed dining room doors and called out mischievously, "Sirius, Arthur would like a word."

"I'm not coming out," returned a muffled voice.  Remus smiled and charmed the doors to slide open to reveal a very startled man in a ruffled purple apron and a floral patterned scarf tied around his tousled black curls.  "Remus!"  He hissed and hastily tried to duck under the table.

"Oh no you don't," Remus laughed.  He walked around the table and gripped the resisting hand.  "Heel, Padfoot!" he called, earning himself a very dark look.  Pulling the reluctant wizard forward, Remus made his way to the fireplace.  

"Hello there Sirius!"  Arthur took in his ensemble.  "Just a bit of light housecleaning, eh?"  At Sirius' black look, Arthur continued hastily, "Listen, Molly and I were wondering if you might want to pop over for dinner tonight—say six o'clock?  All the kids are home and would love to see you both—plus, we could use an extra hand in toting all the goodies back over here."

Remus nodded.  "We would love to.  Six o'clock it is."

"Excellent."  And with a "pop", Arthur's head disappeared.  

Smiling broadly, Remus walked over to Sirius who made a delightful picture of a pouting child.  "Aww… come on, Paddy.  You just brightened up Arthur Weasley's day.  Just a spoonful of sugar…" he quipped, throwing an amused glance at his lover.  

"Enough with the bloody Mary Poppins.  You know they made a complete muck out of her magical abilities, what with the carpetbag and the flying umbrella—" Remus put out a hand to silence his tirade.  

"C'mon," he said, picking up the feather duster.  "Let's finish.  Oh and Sirius," he called to his mate's disappearing back, "have you got a spare scarf?  I'm rather partial to pink!"

**********

            "George!  What did I tell you about those lights?  I don't want naked cherubs illuminating the party!"

            "Mum!  It's a baby shower and these represent the new arrival!"  Molly shook her dishtowel at the innocent face in front of her.  

            "Hey Fred!  Bring the cradle over here!"

            "Harry!  I told you I already put it up in the bough of the willow tree."

            Voices escalated to a frantic pitch as the Weasley boys and Harry scrambled around the backyard in an attempt to get the party ready.  Groans and cheers could be heard as muffled explosions sounded from various corners.  Ginny peered out the kitchen window anxiously, Hermione and Penelope pressed up on either side.  

            "Do you think it was really such a good idea to let the boys plan the baby shower?" Hermione worried.  Glancing over her shoulder she sighed in relief.  _Well, at least Molly is preparing the food… _

            Ginny moved away from the window and back to the pile of gifts on the floor.  Resuming her position on the floor, she began to thumb through a very tattered book on wrapping and binding spells.  "I know there has to be something in here about how to tie a perfect bow," she muttered before calling over her shoulder,  "Hermione, it's a baby shower for the _Marauders.  I highly doubt that they are going to mind a few explosions—in fact, I am certain that Sirius will have one or two up his sleeve."      _

"He'll have what up his sleeves?" Molly asked distractedly as she curved her wand over the icing in a decorative spiral to read the words, "Welcome New Marauder".

"Oh nothing, Mum," Ginny glanced quickly at Hermione.  "Shouldn't they be here by now?"

**********

            Remus tugged at his necktie uncomfortably and peered at his reflection skeptically.  The man staring back at him looked as anxious as he felt inside.  His golden eyes seemed a little too bright and his cheeks a little too flushed.  He shrugged himself into his dress robes of dark indigo blue and tried desperately to calm the butterflies in his stomach.  His fingers trembled as he fastened his clasp and he hazarded a glance in the mirror to see how Sirius was faring.

            Sirius felt awful.  In two days, a little one would be joining their ranks and he felt his confidence rapidly oozing away.  Watching Moony in the mirror as he placidly smoothed his robes made him feel even more nauseous.  Irritated, he wondered if _anything shook his lover's composure.  He had a sinking feeling that dinner at the Weasley's was going to be a little more involved than simply nourishing one's body.   He wasn't sure if he was prepared to be drilled incessantly, nor did he even know what his answers would be._

            "Ready?"

            Sirius glanced up and felt a smile crack his stiff lips.  His Moony was so beautiful.  Dark indigo robes framed the tall, lithe body, the richness of the fabric accentuating his classic features.  Golden eyes shone with love.  Sirius reached up and pushed back the tendril of hair that always managed to fall despite the best anti-gravity charm.  _My Moony indeed…  _

            Remus smiled with concern over the morose expression on the face of the man he loved.  _Perhaps I was a little hard on him during the dusting episode…  "What is it, love?  We are going to be late."_

            "Oh nothing," Sirius shrugged.  Standing he put on his dark red dress robes and with a smile, patted Remus on the back.  "I'm just brooding a bit.  Nothing to concern yourself with.  Ah… now where did I put those spare dungbombs…"  Laughing, he strolled over to the bureau.  Remus frowned.

            "I don't think it's such a good idea to _encourage them—" _

            "Remy, they _own a joke shop.  And besides, I am certain that they aren't expecting anything less from us—erm—me," he amended.  Shoving the packet into his robes, he gripped Remus by the other man's shoulder and said in a serious tone,  "Moony, just promise me that we are making the right decision.  Say the words."_

            Remus raised startled eyes to the blue ones boring into his own.  "Sirius, I don't think it would be natural if we weren't concerned.  But," he added with conviction, "I promise you that this is the most wonderful decision we have ever made together.  Everything will be fine.  Besides," he continued nuzzling his lover's smooth cheeks, "James and Lily would wish this happiness on their best friends.  Don't you remember the sheer joy you felt the first time James placed Harry in our arms?  It's time to share our love…"  He backed slightly away and quirked his lip at Sirius.  "Anyway, aren't you excited?"  

Sirius growled low and grabbed Remus backside through his robes.  He yelped and slapped away the hand.  "Behave, Padfoot.  Shall we be off then?"  In a flash, they apparated to the Burrow.  


	3. Baby Shower for the Marauders

Chapter 3

            Blinking, Remus looked around the empty kitchen.  "Are we late?" he asked in confusion.  Sirius glanced around the entry into the living room.  Silence.  

            "Are you sure you didn't misinterpret Arthur's invitation, Moony?

            Remus shook his head bemusedly.  "No," he said slowly, "Arthur said six o'clock.  I wonder where everyone is."  Consulting the Weasley wall clock, the hands clearly read quarter to seven and every single Wesley family member was "home."  

"Well, shall we search the yard then?"

            The two moved cautiously to the back door, feeling a bit awkward in their trespassing.  "What do you suppose?" Remus stopped suddenly.  "Oh my god, Padfoot!" 

            Jumping out from being the oak tree was the whole Weasley clan plus Harry, Hermione, Penelope, and Angelina.  "Surprise!" everyone cried.  

The blinking naked cherubs swung happily in the tree, casting a blue and pink glow on the ground.  Propped up in the left corner of the yard were several moving pictures of cooing infants, screaming toddlers, small children with chocolate smeared all over their faces, and one lone image of an angelic looking child fast asleep.  The Weasley boys had summoned two rocking chairs from the front room and waved the two men over to their places of honor.  

            Sirius laughed delightedly as Harry rushed forward and wrapped him in a big embrace.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the sound of exploding Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fireworks.  He patted Harry's back heartily and caught Remus' twinkle as the other man was practically lifted off the ground by the very enthusiastic Charlie Weasley.

            "Harry!  Let me get in—oomph!"  Ginny stumbled backwards as Harry swung around.  Sirius watched the two of them partake in this little dance and a dawning comprehension hit him.  Harry pushed his hand awkwardly onto Ginny's back, trying to regain both their balance.  

            "Congratulations, Sirius," he cried, straightening his glasses.  Ginny moved forward and planted a kiss on the older man's cheek.  

            "This is such wonderful news.  When we heard from Hermione this morning, we were absolutely astounded!  You never let on that you were going to become parents.  Shame on you for keeping us in the dark," she scolded him in jest.

            Straightening his robes, Sirius winked at Harry before turning to Ginny.  "Well," he said mischievously, "we didn't want to give young Mr. Potter over here any ideas."

            Harry cuffed him on the arm good naturedly as Ginny turned pink.  "Sirius, you really don't know what it's like to be awoken by Hermione at five in the morning.  For the love of Merlin, she took about ten years off of my life apparating there like that."

            Ginny giggled and squeezed Harry's hand.  Sirius could see the affection in her eyes as she looked at the handsome wild haired man standing next to her.  He wondered vaguely if they were planning on getting married anytime soon.  James' son had matured into a wonderful young man, his green eyes brilliant as ever.  It was the kindness and integrity, however, etched into Harry's features that compelled people to stand by his side and offer up their trust and support.  His spirit and resolve had been tested so often in the not so distant past that Sirius was humbly proud to be called the boy's godfather.  _Harry is, forever, the first son in my heart, he reflected__.  _

            "Sirius?" 

            He looked deeply into Harry's puzzled eyes and thought that he saw in there a deep rooted pride directed at his godfather.  "I'm fine," he said huskily.

            Harry frowned and shifted uncomfortably.  "You know, Sirius, I always figured that at some point you and Remus would want to have a family of your own—and I—I just want to let you know that I'd be honored to be considered an older brother to this child—that is, if you would want me to… be that is… you know…" he finished awkwardly.  

            Gruffly, Sirius embraced his godson.  "Harry, you are the salt of the earth.  I know that's something that Remus is more likely to say, but in my heart you have, and always will be, a son to me.  I suppose I never tell you this often enough, and I know circumstances being as they are I don't often get the chance to be with you—but, Harry, I am so proud of you.  And Ginny," Ginny looked up at the two men, her eyes bright.  "You are such a lovely young woman.  Watch out, he's crazy, this one.  He'll need all the womanly advice you can heap on him.  Don't you agree, s_on?"_

            Ginny's laugh twinkled in the air.  Harry pulled her firmly against the warmth of his side and flushed with pleasure at the term of endearment.  "Don't worry about me, you overgrown pup.  Just remember, it's retribution time and I'll come collecting soon."

            Molly bustled over to the two black-haired men and her flame-haired daughter.  Dressed in soft rose colored robes, she smelled delightfully of cinnamon and chocolate.  Her eyes crinkled in pleasure as she pulled Sirius into a motherly hug and patted his cheek softly.  She moved her eyes appraisingly over the soon-to-be father.  

            "Do I meet with your approval?" Sirius smiled warmly, a hint of amusement lacing his words.  Molly looked up with fondness at the man who was the protector of a boy she considered to be a son.  She knew in her heart that he tried his best to be with Harry whenever possible.  It was the cruel machinations of fate preventing the two from bonding for years.  Sirius was not untrustworthy, nor was he as irresponsible as he sometimes made himself out to be.  She realized that his fun-loving nature and newly acquired casual attitude on life belied a carefully concealed fear that this pleasant time, too, should pass.  

            She understood him as a mother knew her own child.

            "Sirius, dear," she leaned on tip-toe to plant a kiss on his cheek.  "Arthur and I are beside ourselves with joy.  How did you ever think to keep this from us?  When we heard from Hermione that you two received your clearances I jumped on poor Arthur for keeping this from me."

            "Mum," Ginny nudged her mother.  "I've already scolded him."

            "Yes, dear, I know, but really, good boy—you should have told us!  Raising a child takes so much patience and knowledge, and you and Remus are powerful wizards, but what do either of you know about wizard childrearing?"  She stood there with her plump soft, work-worn hands on her hips, indignation clearly written on her face.  "Of course, I then realized that perhaps you didn't _want any interference—I seem to remember cockiness and self-assurance being two of the more __noticeable Marauder traits…"  _

            "Believe me, Molly," Sirius interjected wryly.  "Remus has managed to slowly whittle away any remaining cockiness I reserved from my, erm, more _indiscreet days.  Besides," he continued in a more somber tone.  "Remus was concerned that the Ministry and the IWPA wouldn't allow him to raise a child.  He didn't want to raise any false hopes.  As it is, Molly, it took several conferences and numerous recommendations before they would even consider our petition.  They still have serious reservations about a werewolf's ability to control his primal urges during the full moon and have only just conceded because of Remus' track record and the advancement of the Wolfsbane."  He paused momentarily before continuing in a bitter tone.  "I have a feeling though that the only reason they are permitting this to take place is because the Minister of Magic feels the need to make reparations for my imprisonment, not because they feel Remus is a human being."_

            Shock registered on Molly and Ginny's faces.  He knew his own eyes mirrored the anger he saw in Harry's. 

Shrugging lightly, he leaned forward and whispered, "Please don't say a word of this to Remus.  You three know how vulnerable he is underneath his calm veneer."     

            Molly nodded briskly, her eyes bright with tears of indignation.  She and Arthur had left Hogwarts before Sirius and Remus' first year, but she remembered the pain shadowed eyes of the quietest of the four mischief-makers during a visit with the Blacks.  Moving away, she patted Sirius' arm and glanced over at Remus, who was nodding with interest at a Muggle invention Arthur held out.

            "Arthur," she scolded, walking quickly across the lawn to her husband who was in the process of trying to mute the static coming from the little white box with his wand.  "What would the Department say if they knew you had this?  Where did you pick it up?  You certainly didn't charm it, did you, because you know how much trouble you were in after that unfortunate _television incident…"_

            Penelope moved to the table and curiously touched the little box.  "It's a baby monitor, Molly.  This is the base unit and Muggle parents typically put this is the nursery.  You see," she fiddled with the knobs, turning off the ear-piercing static.  "This picks up any noises the baby makes and transmits it through radio frequencies to these individual units parents place around the house.  It allows them to monitor the baby's activities."

            Arthur's eyes brightened.  "Ingenious!"  Handing the unit over to Remus, he shuffled his feet under Molly's penetrating look.  "Well, some bloke over in Leeds put a spell on these to make them pick up sounds from his neighbors—spying tactics, I suppose.  We confiscated them last week, and I remembered them just this afternoon."

            Sirius, Harry and Ginny watched as Molly grabbed the little box from Remus' hands.  They couldn't make out the words, but Ginny understood the gist of the exchange.  

            "Dad's trying to give you a Muggle artifact and Mum's having a fit."

            Harry frowned up at his godfather, unwilling to the let the issue rest.  "Sirius," he began, but Sirius cut him off.

            "Let's just enjoy tonight, Harry.  After all, we _are going to be fathers, and—and—well, just sod the Ministry!"  Harry knew his godfather was furious both for himself and for Remus, but he also knew that this problem had certainly been hashed out plenty of times over at the Lupin-Black household._

            Ginny caught Harry's hand and pulled him over to empty seats next to Ron and Hermione.  She turned and Sirius winked, flashing a look of gratitude her way.       

            "Oi, Sirius!  Are you planning on joining the festivities anytime soon?"  

Sirius ducked as a firework whizzed over his head.  The whole clan had moved over to the picnic tables groaning under the weight of Molly's delicious cooking.  Remus moved silently to stand next to him and chuckled softly.  Sirius cocked his head and a grin broke over his face as he heard what his lover whispered.

"…And we thought we could avoid the influences of Fred and George…"   

**********

            Angelina batted away Fred's hand.  "This is a gift from me," she said dryly.  "I think I managed to keep this safe from these two."

            Sirius chomped inquisitively on a handful of Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans, his prize for winning the game of "Fastest Most Effective Cleaning Charms—Who Can Clean the Chocolate off the Baby."  Grinning, he opened his mouth at Moony.  Remus was still a bit sore at him for beating him at every single game.  

            "Those images aren't real, you know, in real life you're going to have to use more than a simple third year cleaning charm," Remus had grumbled after losing yet another round to Sirius.  

            "Keep saying that if it will make you feel better," Sirius had responded cheekily.  

            Remus took the gift from Angelina and shook it like a little kid at Christmas.  He sat cross-legged in a mound of discarded wrapping paper and bows that refused to be untied and had to be hexed off the packages.  

            Ginny was laughing through her tears of mirth.  "I guess I went a bit overboard with the tying charm."

            Sirius grinned lopsidedly at his Moony, a blue bow affixed to his black curls.  He was surrounded by piles of gifts.  There were enchanted nappies that were guaranteed to never leak, bottles with built in heating charms, a mobile with little flying Chudley Cannon Quidditch players, and assorted children's educational toys that were charmed to change colors for "continual learning development for the healthy mental advancement of the pre-toddler wizard or witch" according to Hermione. 

            Remus held up Angelina's gift to the group. 

"Ah ha…" exclaimed Molly.  "I remember that manual.  Best seller in Flourish and Botts for two years running.  _A Daddy's Guide to Handling Tantrums—How to Tame Even the Most Rambunctious Wizard or Witch.  Very useful.  You'll find that there are a lot of useful charms in there," she said sagely, pointedly looking at her twins._

"Who me?" Fred protested.   

Sirius took the book from Remus and placed it on top of the various other "learning" manuals.  "Thanks, Angelina.  I suppose you _would be an expert on this topic."_

            Percy leaned over and started to hand a large gift to Sirius.  Frowning, he sniffed the air suspiciously.  "What's that smell?" his nose wrinkled under his glasses.  "Fred, George, what did you do now?"

            Both boys raised their hands in protest.  "Nothing, I swear!  Ask him!"

            "Ew…" Hermione grimaced and stood quickly.  Suddenly a burst of noxious odor filled the air.  "It smells like—like—" she sniffed once and then yanked her blouse over her nose.  "It smells like the time Harry and Ron let off the dungbomb in Snape's classroom!"

            Soon, all the Weasleys were running away to various corners of the yard.  Remus jumped to his feet and pointed at Sirius who continued to sit there, his face burrowed in his knees, the evidence steaming at his side.  

            "Padfoot!" he choked.  He covered his nose with his sleeve.  "You set such a bad example," he laughed, the sound muffled.  He stared at Sirius whose shoulders shook uncontrollably.  He wanted desperately to be angry at the situation but couldn't get over the hilarity of Fred and George scampering away.  "What will Molly and Arthur think?"

            Sirius finally managed to look up at Remus and in a fit of coughing, said, "I forgot those were in there.  I must have triggered them when I was leaning over to get the present from Percy.  Ah, the Marauders strike again.  Good times, good times."

            Remus waved his wand at the offending mess and said the appropriate spell to get rid of the lingering fumes.  "All is clear," he called, wagging his eyebrows at Sirius as the other man continued to laugh, his lack of remorse obvious.  Slowly the party emerged from the bushes and trees surrounding the garden.  

            Bill jogged up first.  "That was bloody wicked, Sirius!  Did you see those two run?"  

            "Honestly, you two!  And you are going to call yourselves fathers in two days!"  Hermione scolded them affectionately, Ron holding her hand, an impressed grin plastered on his face.  She kissed him on his freckled cheek and guided them back to their spot on the grass.  

            Harry, Ginny and Charlie came from around the side of the house, all three sniffing the air apprehensively.  Charlie's gift, an actual fire-breathing replica of a Hungarian Horntail chose, at that precise moment, to belch up a miniature fireball.

            "Argh!" yelped Sirius, barely dodging the flame.  Remus glanced down in concern.  Smiling, he ruffled his mate's hair and planted a quick kiss on the top of his head, a bit wary about being too affectionate in public.  His eyes caught the bright brown ones of Ginny and she smiled in understanding as she tucked her hand in Harry's.            

            A warm glow spilled out of the back door as Molly and Penelope came forward bearing a glorious chocolate cake.  Arthur patted the two fathers-to-be on their backs.  "Shall we?"  

            Standing, everyone gathered around the table once again.  Remus and Sirius read the writing on the cake "Welcome New Marauder" and smiled in unison at the beaming family encircling them with love.  If there was anything that could boost their wavering self-confidence, the Weasley family offered it in the form of their unanimous support.  Arthur, Bill and Percy were already fathers, and sympathetic understanding radiated from them in droves.  

            "We cannot thank you enough," Remus looked at each one in turn.  "This truly means the world to us."  He wrapped his arm around Sirius and gave his mate a small squeeze.  

            "Always," Molly said.  "We consider you both to be honorary family members."

            "Here here!" cried the twins as they began to pour glasses of butterbeer all around.  "To the proud new daddies! May your children look to us as role models and continue the fine Marauder legacy."  Molly cuffed the twins on the backs of their heads affectionately.  

            Bill moved forward and put an arm around each man.  "Nervous, eh?"  The handsome young man pushed his chest out proudly.  "When Emily was first placed in my arms I thought I was going to be sick.  But when she opened those bright little eyes and her tiny hand grabbed my thumb I was lost."  He grinned lopsidedly.  "I've never been the same since.  God, I'd walk through fire for her."

            Remus looked up, startled.  He shared a warm intimate glance with his lover, blue eyes linking with golden ones, the energy between the two men almost tangible in its intensity.  In that moment, due to the brilliancy of Bill Weasley's words, Remus knew instantaneously that they would be fine.  His heart yearned to pour out his love and all the emotions associated with his devotion onto the small, fragile human being that would gaze up at him fearlessly and without judgment.  How often did he worry about his lycanthropy and the possible effects it would have on his ability to raise a child?  His anguish at the possibility of inflicting harm on a defenseless being tore away at his heart, causing him to sometimes cry out in distress.  Sirius, his bold, brave Sirius would try to shake him out of his misery and confront the golden-eyed man writhing in self-depreciation.  Now, however, he finally understood the truth of the matter and found it delightfully refreshing to realize that he couldn't allow his fears to control his actions.  For once in his life, people would be depending upon him, Remus Lupin, kind-hearted, misunderstood beast, for guidance, nurturing, support, and love.  How he desperately yearned for a family.

            "Moony?"  Sirius' low voice shook him out of his reverie.  Remus squeezed his hand comfortingly and ran his thumb up and down Sirius' palm.  Sirius shivered in pleasure and squeezed back.

            "The next Marauder?"  Harry chuckled.  "I suppose we should all be on our guard now.  He's going to learn all of the tricks directly from the manufacturers."

            "He?"  Ginny bopped Harry aside the head.  She shook her red curls and slowly licked the chocolate frosting off her fork tines.  "I think we have a fair representation of men around here.  The women are sorely outnumbered!"  

            "Hey!  Watch it there," Harry cried in mock horror as Ginny poked him with her fork.  "It's just that I never _considered the idea that they would adopt anything other than a wizard.  I mean, really Gin, what do they know about girls?"_

            Ginny crossed her arms and appealed to Hermione with a look that clearly read _Men are so stupid!  Hermione gracefully rose to the occasion and moved to stand next to Ginny.  Ron watched this nonverbal exchange in amusement and stood next to Harry to offer his support even though in his heart he thought a little girl __might be a lovely possibility. _

            Sirius shrugged slightly and said casually, "Well, actually, Remus and I _have discussed this issue at length and, well, we have decided that either one would be welcome.  After all," he stole a glance at Angelina who was feeding bits of cake to Fred much to George's disgust, "a certain family member __was one of the best Gryffindor Chasers in recent Hogwarts history and happened to be a __girl…  So I suppose if we stipulate to the IWPA that we are requesting a witch with a flying pedigree we might fare better—Hermione!  I am joking," he added hastily as she drew her brows together.                    _

            Remus patted Hermione on the shoulder and rolled his eyes at Sirius' teasing.  "We'll just wait and see what happens on Saturday," he smiled.  Turning, he saw Molly and Arthur conversing at the table with Charlie and Bill.  "Perhaps we might convince your brothers to help transport these gifts to our home?  We really should be going.  After all," his eyes brightened.  "We only have one day left before we leave, and we still haven't erected the Infant Wizard protection charms and the cradle…"  His voice trailed off as he moved towards Molly and Arthur.  

            Sirius laughed aloud at the absurdity of Remus' obsession.  He knew deep down his mate was the more sensible of the two, but Remus' little neurotic tendencies only endeared him further in the eyes of his wild lover.  "Never mind Moony," he called over his shoulder in reply to Harry's questioning glance.

**********

Later that evening, Remus propped himself up on one elbow and took in his sleeping mate.  He was too excited to sleep, his emotions churning frantically inside him, his heart pounding.  He had lit the tall pillar candles on the bedside table before they had lain down, and the gentle breeze flittering through the slightly raised window pane caused the luminescent light to flicker slightly.  Cool air dusted his cheeks and brought with it whispered fragments of memories of autumns past.  Sirius murmured in his sleep and rolled slightly to his side, pulling the sheet with him.  Remus smiled slightly at this action and tugged gently in opposition.  Realizing this was futile, he got up from the bed and moved to sit in the armchair next to the window.

He curled his long slender legs up under him and reached out with his hand.  The old Weasley cradle stood next to the chair.  Sirius had debated whether or not to put it in their bedroom, but Remus had insisted.  He remembered too many lonely nights as a child when he felt small and alone, when his whispered pleas went unheard.  "Just for awhile," he had coaxed.  Sirius had relented, and gazing upon the cradle, Remus thought that it fit perfectly with its surroundings.

The second bedroom in the house was directly across the hall.  He had instructed the Weasleys to put all the gifts and baby items on loan in the room, and he smiled inwardly at the realization that he had resisted the strong urge to organize everything.  _Sirius would have killed me if I had dared raise my wand.  _

A soft pale yellow, he mused, running over color combinations in his mind.  Or perhaps light celery green with a cream border and soft yellow muslin curtains.  He was adamant that Sirius _not hang up the Quidditch wallpaper he had picked up in Diagon Alley in an optimistic moment last month.  He smiled ruefully as he remembered how furious he had been at his mate for presupposing the decision of the Ministry and the hurt yet defiant look that flew to Sirius' face before he launched into another tirade about Remus' pessimism in regards to the issue.  _

Sirius reached out in his sleep for Moony's warm body and woke in displeasure at the vacancy.  Remus' spot was still warm, his scent lingering on the pillows and sheets.  "Mmm…"  He burrowed his nose in the soft down pillow, inhaling deeply, desperately trying to soak up every trace of his lover.  _I could never get enough of his smell… _

"Moony?" he whispered raising his head slightly, his eyes squinting in the dim light.

Remus started.  "I'm over here, Padfoot."  He gave the cradle another gentle rock.  If he closed his eyes he could envision the soft, warm blankets bundling their child as the little eyes buttoned themselves in sleep.    

"Moony, come back…"

Remus unfolded his legs and stretched languidly.  Yawning, he rubbed his eyes gently, finally feeling weary.  He climbed into bed, and folded his Padfoot in a warm embrace.  His legs entwined with the long muscular legs of his lover, and Sirius pushed his hips back so that their two bodied molded into one.  

"Pajamas, Moony?"

Laughing softly, Remus reached down and clumsily worked to kick off his pants.  "Padfoot," he grinned.  "You have to release my leg if you want me to get these things off."  Sirius acquiesced grumpily.  "Mmm…" Remus whispered.  "Your skin feels so nice, Paddy…"

Sirius turned his head and two alert eyes met the golden ones peering down at him.  "Shall we practice the silencing charm again, love?" he suggested, more than a hint of hope gracing his words.

 Remus let out a muffled laugh deep in his lover's neck.  Grabbing his wand from the table, he leaned over and blew out the lights.


	4. The Institution, the Nurse, and the Baby

Chapter 4

Saturday morning broke free in a burst of dusty rose and soft orange clouds as the sun moved higher in the horizon. The trees surrounding the cottage shivered slightly in the crisp air. The multi-colored leaves began a joyful dance, feeding off the energy radiating from the occupants of the little home. The soft green grass curled and waved around the sandstone walkway, welcoming the little feet that would soon arrive. Even the very house had a wide awake expression on its exterior—the two dormer windows sparking in the early sunlight, the curtains pulled back in anticipation of the new day. 

Inside the little house, the two men began their daily routine with only a few noticeable alterations. The tea kettle shrieked merrily for a longer period of time, the tea-maker occupied with folding the tiny little garments with meticulous care. The other gentleman paused in the act of preparing the omelet to thumb the pages of _1001 Dishes to Please Your Baby,_ oblivious to the splattering pan. 

The little room to the right at the top of the stairs stood ready for its new occupant. The four walls were painted a soft pale yellow and little cutouts from the Quidditch wallpaper formed a jaunty border. The Chuddley Cannon mobile hung from the sloping eaves, and little shelves proudly bore the Weasley children's toys. One of the two rocking chairs stood in the corner, the receiving blanket Molly had knit for Ginny laid carefully across the back. From the wardrobe to the full-sized crib, and the changing station to the little Hungarian Horntail sleeping on the windowsill, the room was in perfect form, not an item out of place. Propped in the far corner next to the window seat stood Harry's gift of a miniature Firebolt. There were no obvious clues as to whether a small Elizabeth or a little Maximillian would be sleeping in the room, for the wardrobe contained sundresses and bonnets as well as little sailor outfits and miniature cricket jerseys. 

Sirius paused in the act of folding yet another maroon jumper to transfigure the "R" into a little deer mouse. Hidden amongst the pile were several outfits sporting little fire-breathing dragons, flying snitches, and even a few with large black dogs that barked whenever it sensed a need for a new nappy. Remus had balked at the idea of animated objects on the front of the clothes. 

"What if we are in a Muggle part of London and someone sees this?" he had worried. Sirius truly understood Remus' concerns but didn't see how it would matter that much, as they hardly ever interacted with attentive Muggles.

Still, to appease his mate, Sirius transformed half of the letters into harmless inanimate objects. Moony had a soft spot for baby animals, primarily due to the fact that they had not yet learned to fear the wolf in him. As such, there were several jumpers graced with little lambs, foals, and baby calves. "Ah…" he held up a little one-piece item, the knees and seat patched several times. Raising his wand, an image of a little gray wolf howling at the crescent moon appeared on the front. 

Remus turned slightly at the sound. "Did you hear something, Padfoot?" 

Sirius quickly silenced the miniature wolf and innocently resumed folding.

Frowning, Remus picked up the spatula and tried to pry the omelet from the pan. He noticed the oil spots on the book and wiped his hand across the page, smearing the mess even further. "Sirius," he called in exasperation, "aren't you going to do something about the tea?" When the eggs refused to budge, Remus heaved a sigh and picked up his wand. He hated using magic when cooking, finding the Muggle way to be infinitely more satisfying. _Until now, that is_, he thought wryly. "Sirius, the tea!" He dumped the charred eggs into the waste bin.

Sirius silenced the kettle over his shoulder. He picked up the piles of clothes and moved to go upstairs. Remus caught him suddenly by the forearm and pressed his lips against his lover's in a spontaneous gesture fueled by his anticipation. Sirius sighed with surprise into the slightly parted mouth and began to savor the feeling of those soft lips pressed warmly up to his. _Moony can really kiss_, he thought through his haze. The clothes forgotten, Remus began to slowly work his cool hands up under Sirius's shirt. He tugged it out from beneath the waistband, and his hands began their assault on his smooth chest. His lips moved to nip at the sensitive spot just below the ear. 

A shiver ran up and down Sirius' spine. He grasped Moony's jumper in his strong grip and pulled the smaller man away from the table. The clothes littered the ground and were quickly crushed by the trampling feet. After several long minutes, Remus pulled away shakily and stared into the passion fueled eyes of his lover.

"Wow," he whispered shakily. "I don't know where _that_ came from."

Sirius bowed his head in search of another passionate kiss. "Remy," he whispered against the smooth, swollen lips. "I love it when you get possessive… I love you _so_ much."

Remus tugged gently at Sirius' bottom lip. "You're my pack mate, Paddy. Our lives are forever entwined… you better not forget that, _ever_." Sirius shook is head back and forth, his forehead pressing against his mates. 

"_Never_," he breathed, rubbing his noses affectionately with Remus.

Remus stared transfixed at this awesome man standing before him—this man who pledged his eternal love and commitment, who took a gamble on loving someone with such a checkered past. His heart pounded in his chest, _a typical occurrence as of late_, he thought dryly. Sirius asked for nothing in return save love and friendship, two things that Remus had been willing to offer unconditionally since their first meeting. When boyhood love blossomed into romantic love, Remus decided from that moment on he would be willing to do _anything_ for his lover. Even after the travesty of the events surrounding Halloween 1981, Remus still clung to the belief that the memory of the one great love of his life would be able to sustain him throughout the unending parade of empty years awaiting him. And when Padfoot returned… oh the joy, the _absolute ecstasy_ was unbelievable. 

Remus gazed deeply at the face that rested on his own, the blue eyes closed. He sorrowfully remembered the anguish in Sirius' eyes when all the preliminaries were over and he was afraid to cross the threshold into the little cottage. The emaciated shell of a man leaned heavily against the railing, exhausted to the point where he felt unable to support his own weight. A black fringe of matted oily hair covered bleak eyes that remained fixed on the cracks in the floorboards. Remus stood apart from his friend, his partner, and pushed his hands awkwardly into his pockets, unsure as to how to approach. _Should I embrace him?_ He desperately wanted to fold the petrified man in a tight hug, but the desperate emotional barrier surrounding Sirius held him off. Remus' mouth felt like sand dust, and he swallowed uncomfortably as his eyes hungrily traced Sirius' every feature. No words crept from either man's lips as they remained rooted to the ground. After a moment that seemed to stretch far too long for comfort, Remus stepped forward and took Padfoot's two hands, raised them palm-side up, and traced his lifeline with a slender finger. "This is your lifeline," he whispered shakily. "And here is where my heart intersects with yours… You see, Paddy, even if you were to _try_ and cut me out of your life you would still have the physical reminder of me implanted on your very flesh, your very _soul_." He took his own palm and raised it towards the other man. Wrapping Sirius' finger in his own cool hand, he used it to trace his own lifeline. "And here I am… and this is where you are bound with me." Sirius' tears coursed down his cheeks, his shoulders shuddering with repressed sobs. Remus pressed their hands together and an instantaneous current flowed through the two men, the energy between them surging to new levels. "If you _ever_ worry about whether or not I have forgiven you, just reach for my hand and feel my heart's life blood flow through your lifeline."

Smiling, Remus reached for Sirius' hands and pressed them to his own. The other man trembled slightly and opened his eyes. 

"Our love is extraordinary, Sirius." Remus' words rained comfortingly on to Sirius' scarred soul. 

"Always, Moony, always…" he managed to croak. 

**********

            "Oh, my god, Sirius!" Remus ran frantically up the stairs in pursuit of his cloak. "It's five minutes to three! Where did you put the decree? Is your hair combed?"

            Sirius rounded the corner, emerging from the baby's room. 

            "What are you doing in there, Padfoot? We have to go."

            "I was just making sure everything is in order. I wanted to put a warming spell in the room as there will probably be a chill in the air when we return."

            "Good, good," Remus said distractedly, fumbling with his shoestrings. He rushed into their bedroom and grabbed his cloak from the other rocking chair. Turning, he appraised his mate with a critical eye. "All right then, you have then decree—_what_ did you say you were doing?"

            Sirius raised an eyebrow archly at the flustered man. "It seems our roles have reversed temporarily, Moony my dear. I have the decree, my hair is combed, and I was putting a warming spell in the room. You can close your mouth now. I'm not completely inept, you know." Remus shut his mouth with a snap, unaware that he had been gaping. 

            "Right, then." An awkward silence fell. "Right, then," Remus repeated. Smiling at the absurdity of the situation, he chuckled and began his ascent to the main floor. Sirius followed closely, his hand trembling as he patted his robes to make sure the parchment didn't fall out.

            Standing before the fireplace, Sirius reached for the little ceramic jar of floo powder. Tossing a handful in, they watched as the flames went from red and orange to a cool bluish green. Catching Sirius' eyes briefly, Remus stepped forward, and with a cry, "Infant Wizard Protection Agency" he disappeared. Sirius followed and the little house stood empty.

**********

The white halls of the Infant Wizard Protection Agency were glaringly institutional. The main fireplace connected to the Floo Network was in itself a rather drab piece of architecture—a simple marble hearth, slightly chipped and faded, surrounded by whitewashed stone trim. Nothing adorned the mantle, and the room was empty aside from a green steel desk with a matching metal chair, two wooden chairs facing the desk, and an old oak cloak rack in the corner. There were no pictures on the walls, just a wizard clock with sections that read "Wake Up", "Breakfast", "Studies", "Dinner", "Naptime", "Studies", "Tea", "Physical Fitness", "Supper", and "Bedtime". The wooden shutters had been opened slightly, allowing for a glimpse outdoors to the moors. The air was stagnant and stale.

Remus and Sirius frowned at their surroundings. The only way to get to the IWPA was through the Floo Network and even then one had to have a recognized appointment. Remus crossed to the window and peered out. "We must be somewhere in Yorkshire," he determined. If he craned his neck, he could see parts of the façade of the building and recognized the Georgian architecture with its pillars and broad triangular pediment at the front of the building. It appeared as if the Ministry had taken over an old manor home, and he wondered vaguely how they managed to convince the Muggles of its disappearance. 

"Indeed, we are located just outside of the village of Yorkshire Wolds. Extreme caution has been undertaken to ensure the safety of the children, and we prize our isolation above all things else," came a cold voice from the doorway.

Remus turned around and started. Sirius gave the woman one cursory glance before determining her to be "a typical warden of sorts." 

Stepping, forward, Remus extended his hand. "Remus Lupin, ma'am," he said politely. The older witch took his hand and gave it a quick shake, her bespectacled eyes appraising him closely. Remus shifted uncomfortably, not feeling at all relaxed with this type of scrutiny.

Sirius noticed the way the woman's eyes lingered on Remus and moved abruptly to begin his introduction. "Sirius Black," he said with a smooth smile. "It's a pleasure."

"Margaret Lancaster, Deputy Caseworker, IWPA," she replied, her eyes lingering for a last moment on Remus before turning to the tall man to her right. She shook the proffered hand rigidly and then moved to the desk, waving the two men to the empty seats. Settling down in her chair, she took out her wand and muttered a few choice words. Immediately a thick file folder appeared on the desktop along with several manuals, a pile of forms, and what appeared to be an index of sorts.

"Now then," she continued after Remus and Sirius settled gingerly into the hard chairs. Her right hand held a quill and her left hand thumbed through a pile of forms at an eye-blurring pace. Sirius felt himself grow slightly dizzy. "Do you have the Ministry decree?" she asked without looking up.

Sirius laid the parchment on her desk.

Quickly she unrolled it, glanced briefly at the signature line, and tapped it with her wand. It disappeared with a pop. 

As Remus watched the woman's actions, a new type of anxiety escalated inside. She appeared to be the same age as Albus Dumbledore with white hair pulled into a severe bun. Her cold gray humorless eyes flashed angrily behind the wire spectacles propped up on a Grecian nose. Her tall thick body was shroud in dark gray robes, and her tapered fingers possessed eerily long, pointed nails. _In fact_, he thought miserably, _her nose is the only aesthetically pleasing part about her—and why does she stare at me like that?_

"You do understand that the Ministry went to great lengths in order to convince the IWPA of your parental fitness levels. Let it be understood, _Mr. Lupin_, that we do not condone the adoption of our children by _creatures_ such as yourself. Werewolves lack the human understanding and nurturing ability to be proper parents. Your principles were _destroyed_ when your blood was tainted. It is with extreme reservation that I allow this to happen at all."

Remus blanched.

"Furthermore, ex-convicts are hardly suitable candidates either. It matters not," she waved away Sirius' protestation, "if you were indeed guilty of the crime. The fact remains that you were exposed to Dementors for a good portion of your life and have been thusly affected. Let me see…" she flipped through a stack of papers in the file folder. "Nightmares, weakened physical condition, heart palpitations, lack of appetite, aggressive behavior, et cetera et cetera; do I make myself clear, _Mr. Black_?"

Sirius glared at the woman fixing her with a hard look. His blood boiled inside at the appalling way she dared to treat Moony. Nodding curtly, he kept his mouth shut with great effort upon feeling Remus' trembling fingers squeeze his arm tensely.

Margaret watched the two men shrewdly. "Continuing on, it is, _however_, the expressed desire of the Minister of Magic that the IWPA allow you to raise a child. I do not have it within my power to deny the decree however strongly I may be opposed to the idea. And let it also be understood that the caseworkers assigned to your evaluation are of the same mindset. If we feel that you are in _anyway_ jeopardizing the safety and well-being of the child, we will issue a prompt removal of said child and you will _never_ be allowed another chance. Is this understood, gentlemen?" 

Remus and Sirius nodded mutely. 

Sirius began to mutter unholy words under his breath, but a pained look from Remus quickly stopped his tirade. 

Remus sat there in humiliated shock, rooted to the seat of his chair. He had not felt this dehumanized since his experiences with Severus Snape, and _even then_, he conceded bitterly, _it was only through the ministrations of Dumbledore that Snape was even willing to remain in the same castle as him_. He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration.

Margaret proceeded to pass out the IWPA manuals. "These manuals clearly state the expectations of the IWPA, the rules and regulations that must be obeyed precisely as indicated, and the ramifications that will follow the mistreatment of an IWPA child. If," she paused, sucking in her breath sharply, "if after the three month trial period you are both deemed fit, the child will be signed over into your sole custody and you will no longer be held accountable to the IWPA." 

Sirius couldn't believe how despicable this woman was. He fanned the manual in an outward sign of defiance. Remus, however, bowed his head and opened the book to its table of contents. Drawing in a sharp breath, he dumbfoundedly wondered how on earth they were ever to make it past the three month mark. _Biweekly visits_, he groaned internally. 

"Have you determined the sex of the child?"

_Pardon? _Both men glanced at each other in confusion. 

"Have you decided whether you are interested in a wizard or a witch?" She repeated her words very slowly as if speaking to a bunch of imbeciles.

"Yes, we understood your question. However," Remus said quietly, "we wanted to look at the children to see if any of them connects with our aura. If," he hastened to add, "that is permissible by you." 

Margaret lifted the heavy index and dropped it none too gently before the men. "Contained inside," she said coldly, "are the names of over 150 wizards and over 200 witches. Surely you do not expect me to hand-feed you children all afternoon."

Remus fingered the index. "Perhaps if we told you that we were interested in an infant you might be willing to grant our request? I feel that this will aid in the success of the adoption if the child we select has a karmic bond with us. I am certain your caseworkers will have an easier time evaluating us if this obstacle is out of the way."

The Deputy Caseworker walked over to the fireplace and called out, "Nurse Bracey, I want a word."

A head emerged in the flames, a rosy face surrounded by a light blue and white wimple similar to ones Sirius had seen nuns wear. "Yes, Ma'am?" 

"Nurse Bracey, I remember issuing strict orders that all wizards between three and five years of age were not to be excused from physical fitness. What is this I hear from the groundskeeper of several children sitting out for extended periods of time?"

The rosy cheek nurse paled slightly before answering in a firm tone, "Ma'am, we were engaged in a game based on rotations. Certain children are instructed to sit on the sidelines as the proceeding group marches. I feel that that this instills in them a vested sense of discipline and fair play."

Margaret glared at the younger woman. "We'll discuss this _later,_ Nurse Bracey. However, these two gentlemen have received permission from the Minister of Magic, and _reluctantly_ from the IWPA, to take into custody one of our wards." 

Nurse Bracey frowned slightly at Margaret's emphasis on the word "reluctantly." _Why would the IWPA be reluctant to send one of the wards to a Wizarding family?_ She wondered in astonishment. _There was hardly any interest in these children as it was_. She smiled at the two men.

"I can ill afford to take the time to escort them to the infant ward. They are determined to meet the children before making their decision. Tell Matthews that you are suspended from afternoon duties and escort these two to Ward 1."

Nurse Bracey nodded in immediate agreement. "Certainly, Ma'am." With a "pop" her head disappeared from the flames and within seconds she apparated into the room.

Margaret nodded coldly at her before turning to Remus and Sirius. "This is Nurse Bracey. She will escort you to Ward 1 where wizards and witches under the age of one are housed. The only thing I request at this moment is that you return by six this evening to sign the papers. I do _not_ have all day to spend catering your foolish whims." And with that, she swept out the door, leaving the three of them standing at a stock still.

Nurse Bracey slowly gathered her wits about her and sighed. "If you gentlemen would be so kind as to follow me—"

Remus moved forward and stepped in front of the door. _Let's try this again_, he thought tiredly. "Let me introduce myself. I am Remus Lupin." He extended his hand with just the faintest degree of hesitation.

She stared at him for a brief moment before a beautiful smile wreathed her face. "It's a pleasure. Please call me Cecilia." Remus breathed an audible sigh of relief.

It was Sirius' turn to introduce himself, and feeling benevolent towards this woman who was kind to his Moony, he turned on the full "Black Charm." Reaching out, he clasped her hands between his own warm ones. "And I am Sirius Black, Cecilia. Thank _you_ for gracing us with your presence."

Cecilia appeared slightly startled but made a quick recovery. _Such kind men_, she thought with surprise, _I do wonder at Miss Lancaster's attitude_. 

"Shall we be off, gentlemen?" Remus and Sirius smiled for the first time that afternoon and followed her anxiously down the corridor. 

*********

            Margaret strode into her office and sat down at her desk, her hands trembling slightly. Swiftly she took out a piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled the words, "It is done. They have one." She attached the sealed missive to her owl and sent it out to the moors. 

**********

            The group walked quickly down the white halls and through a maze of staircases. Remus took in the empty walls and wondered why the IWPA was so void of light and cheerfulness. All of the doors were made of solid metal and painted a light blue. He briefly allowed his hand to touch one of the knobs and yelped in surprise at the shock that ran up his arm.

            Cecilia turned around. "You can't touch the doors. Margaret insists on locking charms every time we enter and exit a room. It's an IWPA policy."

            Sirius frowned. He felt twinges of empathy from his experiences in Azkaban. "Where are all the children?" 

            "They have a regimented schedule in an attempt to keep order. The older ones are partaking in their physical fitness at the moment and are in the gymnasium. The younger ones are sequestered in their rooms either resting or engaging in an early tea."

Sirius hated the sound of that. "Are these the children from the war?" 

Cecilia nodded. 

"Not all of them, but the majority lost at least one parent in the war. Some of the children are also abandoned Muggle born and are collected by the Ministry in the monthly sweep. This is undoubtedly the largest number of children we have ever had though. We normally don't have more than twenty children in our care." Cecilia's eyes grew dark. "We actually have very few Wizarding families who are interested in adopting our wards."

Remus walked the way in silence, his mind reeling. He remembered a conversation late one evening, just after his first full moon. His mum and dad were arguing violently about the change in their son. _"We can send him away, Elizabeth! We don't have to keep him! The Ministry has places for children whose parents can't take care of them." His mum screamed back, "He is my child! My only baby. I'll never send him away. You can leave this house if you can't love him, William." He recalled his dad sobbing in pain, begging his mum for forgiveness. "You don't need to ask me for forgiveness, William, you need to ask it of your son." That evening Remus laid in his bed, shivering from fever and the tears trickling down his cheeks landing in cold pools on his pillow. His dad entered his room silently, and the little boy squeezed his eyes shut, willing the older man to leave. Instead, his dad knelt next to him and gathered him tightly in his arms, his own tears wetting the soft golden curls on his arm. "I love you, Remus, and I promise to never leave you. Please, please forgive me for everything… for not protecting you… for wishing—" Remus raised his head and blinked glowing golden eyes at the man who was the epitome of strength to the little boy. "Dad," he whispered, "I love you."_

Remus shuddered at how he might have grown up in this place if it had not been for the strength and bravery of his mother and the resolve of his father. Sirius noticed the slight change in his lover's demeanor and gripped his hand tightly, forcing their bond to glow warmly. 

            "We're here." Cecilia stopped in front of a door with a plaque that read Ward 1. 

            Remus and Sirius watched as she whispered a brief incantation. The door swung open on its own accord. Following her into the room, they first noticed that the walls were painted a light blue to match the wimples the nurses wore. Cribs lined the walls and rocking chairs were scattered about the floor. A soft beige carpet covered the floors and the white curtains danced in the breeze. The soft smell of talc and milk permeated the air, and the two men breathed in deeply. The room was the model of simplicity, and yet there was a distinct warmness that was void elsewhere in the institution. 

            Cecilia sensed their puzzlement and smiled, her rosy cheeks bright in anticipation. "We can sense when Margaret is present. She rarely travels to the Wards and in her absence the nurses modify the rooms slightly. Shall we?" She led the men over to a small plump nurse feeding a tiny child. She rocked the infant gently, crooning to it in soft tones. "Ward 1 is different from the others," she warned. "As the children get older discipline plays a stronger role in their upbringing. The nurses assigned to the 'under one year olds' try to instill affection and kindness before it is too late. We can't be held responsible for what happens after they leave, however."

            She pulled the blanket back from the child. Bright brown eyes blinked up at the disturbance, but the tiny rosebud mouth continued to suck eagerly. The soft head was covered in the smallest amount of peach fuzz and the tiny little cheeks were faintly pink. Remus felt his heart tug as a tiny hand pushed its way out of the blanket and held his finger in a surprisingly strong grip. Sirius watched the scene with a lump in his throat. He coughed to clear his throat, and Remus looked up in surprise. 

            "Do you want to try?"

            Sirius moved hesitantly towards the infant. The nurse took away the bottle and held the baby up to Cecilia. Cecilia instructed Sirius to hold out his arms as she laid the infant in his grasp. "Watch his head now," she said softly, tucking the blanket around the squirming baby.

            "Hey! Why is it crying?" The infant puckered up and began to wail.

            "Oh, oh," cooed Cecilia. "There, there dear. Try rocking him gently." 

            Sirius tried to move his arms in a swaying motion. Remus watched in concern. He didn't want his Padfoot to become discouraged. The infant's wails escalated.

            "What's wrong?" he cried in dismay. His arms were moving on autopilot but nothing seemed to soothe the baby.

            The smaller nurse took the baby back in her arms. "He's just a mite unsure about his surroundings. He's always been a bit fussy." 

            Sirius was as white as a sheet. 

            The wailing baby calmed down instantly. Cecilia clucked under her tongue. "No matter," she reassured them brightly. "There is a particular child for everyone. Little Hugh clearly wasn't the one." She moved to the first crib by the window. A baby slightly bigger than Hugh lay on the pink sheets, her fists batting at the tiny kittens leaping overhead. The mobile swung lazily in the breeze. 

            Remus leaned over the crib and smiled at the beautiful little girl. He reached back for Sirius' hand. "Look, Siri," he murmured. Doesn't she have beautiful eyes?"

            Sirius peered down. The bright aquamarine eyes framed by long golden lashes were focused on the kittens. He reached down tentatively with his finger and felt the soft golden curls framing her angelic face. "She looks like an angel."

            Cecilia gazed at the infant. "Yes," she began haltingly. "She is the prettiest baby in Ward 1… and very well behaved. However, she was under the Cruciatus Curse when her parents were killed last year and due to the extent of her trauma has yet to show any signs of emotional development. She never cries, she never smiles, and she's never giggles. It's almost as if her heart is vacant. The MediWizards can only explain that much to us—physically she is perfect. I'm afraid that even if you wanted to adopt her I would strongly advise against it."

            Remus squeezed Sirius's waist in sorrow. Sirius stroked her forehead once more before lifting his hand and running it through his hair.

            "All these children," he sighed. 

            Five children later, he and Remus were beginning to feel nervous. Neither had felt a strong connection with any of the babies. "Do you think we are doing something wrong, Moony?" Sirius whispered.

            Remus shook his head. "The connections in our hands are never wrong. Our child simply isn't here yet." He consulted the clock on the wall. Tea time had passed and he knew the hour was growing short. 

            Cecilia spun around as the locking charm was de-activated. With a quick flick of her wand, the room transformed back into the stark bleakness like the rest of the institution. She breathed a sigh of relief when a nurse with long black hair flowing from beneath her wimple rolled a cart into the room. 

            "Genevieve," she smiled, transforming the room back to its original state. 

            The black-haired nurse glanced at the visitors in surprise. She continued, however, to push the cart and stopped in front of the only empty crib on the right side of the room. She reached down gently and picked up a tiny bundled swathed in a soft yellow blanket. Cecilia approached her and the two nurses began to converse in low tones. Remus and Sirius watched this exchange quietly. 

            Suddenly, Remus gasped. "Did you feel that, Siri?" he hissed. Sirius nodded quickly. "It's my hand. It's burning." Quickly they dropped hands, but the throbbing persisted. 

            Cecilia cast a fleeting look over her shoulder. Her heart began to pound. She observed Genevieve change the baby's nappy. _A little girl_, she noted. _I wonder_. _They never indicated a preference_… 

            Genevieve pulled the white gown back down and picked up the little girl, pressing her against her shoulder. The tiny eyes were closed in sleep and the little mouth made the most adorable suckling sounds. Hair the color of dark polished mahogany crowned the perfectly round head. Her cheeks were plump and rosy, and her tiny dimpled hands were tucked sweetly under her chin. She released a little hiccup.

            Cecilia tenderly took the sleeping infant from the other nurse and walked over to the nervous looking men. Solemnly, she held out the baby. "Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black, may I introduce you to Elizabeth." 

            Remus' breath caught in his throat. "Elizabeth?" he choked.

            She nodded. "She just arrived this afternoon. Her parents were Muggles and left her on the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral. The Ministry's IWPA division picked her up this morning. We have determined her to be nearly six months old."

            "Why Elizabeth?" he asked shakily, his palms sweating profusely.

            She touched the downy cheek kindly. "Her mum left a note asking the Church to look after her Elizabeth and cleanse the child of her sins. These types of notes are very typical."

            "May I hold her?" She placed little Elizabeth in Remus' trembling arms.

            "Siri, look… just look at how perfect she is. Oh, look at this tiny little body," he laughed through his tears, energy coursing through his body. A single tear splashed on her forehead and startled her into opening her eyes. 

            "Oh my god, Remus, she has violet eyes." 

            The beautiful round eyes blinked once, twice, and took in her surroundings. The brilliant sparkle in her purplish blue eyes took their breath away. She studied the man holding her for a long moment, her little gaze linking with the golden eyes. Her gaze shifted to the dark-haired man peering down at her, a look of total love on his face. His bright blue eyes threatened to spill over. Sirius could feel the tingle in his own hands as he reached out and cupped her little face.

            "This is our child. Do you feel it?" Remus grasped Elizabeth and Sirius' hands firmly. Cecilia and Genevieve watched as the three hands literally began to glow. They smiled at each other, satisfied. 

            Elizabeth made a small smacking sound, drawing their attention back to their daughter. Slowly the corners of her mouth moved, and a slow blossoming smile brightened her face. Remus traced her smile with his finger and raised golden eyes to his mate's. Sirius opened his arms and eagerly enveloped his daughter in a loving embrace. He swallowed hard against the sob that persisted in forming in his throat. The baby settled into the crook of his arm and closed her eyes, a whispered sigh of contentment floating from her lips. 

            Cecilia moved forward to take her from Sirius. He protested slightly, loathed to release his daughter. "You two need to sign the authorization forms. Margaret will be awaiting you in her office. I'll bring Elizabeth to you in a moment." She smiled benevolently at the emotional men. "Genevieve?" she prodded the other nurse.

            Remus and Sirius followed Genevieve out to the hall, grabbing fleeting glances at their daughter. Suddenly not even Margaret could dampen their spirits.

**********

            Margaret Lancaster sat in the same position across from Remus and Sirius, her gaze as cold and penetrating as before. She noted sourly that the two men before her had altered noticeably. There was a definite charged energy surrounding them. _All in good time_, she reflected.

            "Cecilia and Genevieve have informed me of your decision to adopt Ward #1521, Elizabeth, no surname listed. I have completed the preliminary paperwork authorizing you to remove her from the premise. If you would both read through these forms and sign at the X." She pushed two copies of the IWPA Authorization Forms across the desk.

            Remus picked up his copy and began to read in detail the terms and conditions. It appeared to lay out the basic items contained within the IWPA manual. Suddenly a section of very fine print caught his eye. Raising the form closer to his eyes, he squinted to make out the details. 

            _"The IWPA decrees that at any time an IWPA authorized caseworker may make unannounced visits to monitor the behaviors and habits of said parents. Due to the nature of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Remus J. Lupin's condition, it is imperative that he be monitored around the clock. By signing this contract he agrees to wear an IWPA designed tracking device that will monitor his heart rate and other vital signs so that officials will be properly notified in the event of an emergency."_

            Remus hissed. He had never been this furious before in his entire life. 

            "I am _not_ an animal, Miss Lancaster," he said in a deadly quiet voice. 

            Sirius looked up in shock and quickly flipped through the form until he reached the section Remus had been reading. With a roar, he rose to his feet and leaned over the woman who had the sense to cower slightly. 

            "I beg to differ," she said haughtily. 

            Sirius' hands trembled with anger. Bending closer to the despicable woman, he stopped just before he reached her head. "Understand this, _Miss Lancaster_. You will remove that clause from the contract immediately. If you choose not to heed my instructions I can promise you that I have no reservations whatsoever in hexing you." His voice rumbled low in his throat, each word accentuated with loathing.

            Remus stood there, his eyes dark and his fists clenched at his side. "I will repeat. _I am not an animal_. Under any other circumstances I would restrain Mr. Black from threatening you, but I can promise nothing of the sort. Your safety rests in your own hands."       

            Margaret seethed with impotent hatred. _Mr. Lupin was indeed an animal!_ Her mind raced frantically, desperately seeking out a solution. Her hand trembling with anger, she did a quick banishing charm on both forms. _God, how I hate giving in_, her mind shrieked. _These foolish men have no idea of the magnitude of my power. They shall soon see_…

            "The tracking device clause has been removed," she said in a voice that sent chills down their spines. "However, the biweekly visits will still be upheld. Do not grow complacent on me and think that you can use you power to bully me, Mr. Black. I shall be watching you _very_ closely." 

            Remus and Sirius signed the forms quickly. Remus rubbed his forehead tiredly. _I just want to get home with Elizabeth_…

As if she could hear his thoughts, the door opened and Cecilia entered the room holding a small basket. Remus and Sirius threw down their quills and rushed to her side, oblivious to Margaret's penetrating glare. 

"She's so perfect," Sirius breathed. Remus nodded. 

"Can we take her home now?" he asked Cecilia. She glanced over at the furious woman sitting ramrod behind the desk. The older woman's head jerked quickly. 

            Remus breathed a sigh of relief. He grasped Cecilia's hand gently. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for the gift you have helped us acquire. I am forever in your debt." Cecilia nodded, her eyes misting as the gentle, kind hearted man moved to take the basket from Sirius. 

            Sirius turned to Cecilia and smiled. She realized at that moment just how beautiful the two men were together. "Thank you, Cecilia. Your kindness has been wonderful. If you ever need anything, please let us know."

            Turning back to Remus, the three of them made their way to the fire place. Cecilia threw in the floo powder and the brilliancy of the flames cooled at once to their enchanted state. "The Lupin-Black House," Sirius and Remus cried together. In a flash the three of them disappeared.

**********

            Remus picked the sleeping baby up from the basket. Sirius smiled at the picture the two of them made, the soft glow from the orange flames brightening their expressions. How his heart swelled with love. He placed one hand on top of Remus' tawny hair and the other on the rich mahogany of his daughter's. 

"Welcome home Elizabeth Lupin-Black," he whispered. "Welcome home." 


	5. Of Nappies and Kisses

A/N: These first few chapters will be posted rather quickly as I've been writing this for a couple of months.  Just a little exposition in this chapter—let's see how well Remus and Sirius adjust to being daddies!  Perhaps we should just enjoy the pleasantries of the moment before things become… err… more difficult, shall we say?  Thanks for the wonderful reviews—you guys are such an inspiration! Chapter 5

            Sirius settled into Mrs. Lupin's chintz armchair with a deep sigh of satisfaction.  He draped his arms limply and settled his long legs in a comfortable position, wriggling his sock-clad toes.  

Hedwig was currently in en route to the Burrow bearing happy tidings of little Elizabeth's homecoming.  They had found the snowy owl hunched over on the ledge of the kitchen window awaiting their arrival bearing a messily scrawled note from Harry.  Sirius had penned a quick reply, inviting Harry to tea tomorrow afternoon.  

Remus entered the room, his slippered feet padding softly across the hardwood floor.  He had changed out of his formal attire, donning a pair of soft black trousers that skimmed his slender legs and an orange-red button down shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows.  With his silvery golden brown hair and sparkling eyes, he reminded Sirius of fall foliage at its peak.

He set the tea service down and poured plain black tea for his mate.  To appease his own sweet tooth, he added two spoons of sugar and a healthy splash of milk to his steaming liquid.  Remus passed Sirius his cup and saucer before curling up in the corner of the couch.  Long shadows danced on the walls as the driftwood crackled merrily.  The harmony of home and the beauty of love reverberated through the walls of the little home, and the two men smiled at each other, content.    

Staring at the fire, Remus spoke softly, "I think this is the quietest we can expect the house to be for quite some time."

Sirius chuckled in his cup.  "She's going to wake up soon.  She's been asleep ever since we arrived back from the IWPA."  

A comfortable silence fell over the room as Remus sipped his tea and began to thumb through the book Angelina had given them.  It was hard to image the little angel sleeping so calmly upstairs would possibly behave in such a way to warrant the use of the book.  _But, he reasoned wryly, __tempests are usually concealed.  From his professor days, he could recall that some of the more mischievous antics were pulled off by the most unassuming students.  __Like myself.  _

"_When your wizard or witch begins to display the early signs of a tantrum it is best to be observant of repeat behaviors…" he read under his breath.  Looking up, he saw that Sirius' eyes were closed and his head rolled back, the steaming tea balanced on his outstretched knee.  "__Accio Sirius' tea," he whispered. The little cup and saucer flew across the room and landed in his outstretched hand.  Sirius didn't move a muscle.    _

            An hour later, Remus was fully engrossed in _A __Daddy's Guide to Handling Tantrums.  His eyes were stretched to their limit as he read horrifying after horrifying story.  A little witch in Dorset set her daddy's dress robes on fire when he refused to give her any more ice cream.  __And she didn't even have a wand! Remus was stunned, his mind drifting to the handsome pair of robes Sirius had bought him for his birthday.  A wizard toddler set the new record for the longest continuous screaming fit—five days, three hours, and thirteen minutes.  Remus' ears hurt at the very thought of Elizabeth screaming.  __Especially, he thought wincing, __if it's any time near the full moon when my senses are heightened.  He shuddered at the thought of an out of control child.  __Muggles at least don't have to deal with magic!  _

Sirius' mouth hung open.  A soft snore whistled through his teeth.

Fussing sounds made their way down the stairs and across the room.  Sirius shifted slightly in his sleep.  Remus laid his book aside and moved to tap his mate on the shoulder.  "Wake up, Padfoot.  Elizabeth's crying."

Yawning, Sirius opened a sleepy eye.  "Wha—Moony?" 

Remus pried the groggy man's eyelids open and blew lightly.

"Argh!"  Sirius jerked his head back.  "Moony!  Don't _do that!  You know I have sensitive eyes."_

Smiling smugly, Remus watched as Sirius rubbed his eyes.  "Come on," he said after a moment.  

Sirius turned his head toward the doorway and squeezed his eyes shut.  "I don't hear anything," he mumbled.

"There," Remus said exasperatedly, pointing out the babbling sound.

It was a tiny trickle, a sweet high-pitched group of nonsensical sounds.  The two men exchanged broad grins.  

"Race you," Sirius grinned devilishly.  They charged down the hall and barreled up the stairs.

"We can't do this every time she calls," Remus panted.  "You don't want her to set your robes on fire!"

Sirius threw his mate an odd look as they halted in the doorway to their room.  

"Daddy's guide to tantrums and the like," Remus wheezed, leaning against the doorframe.

Sirius wagged his eyebrows.  "Looks like you are a bit winded there, old man"

Remus elbowed him sharply.         

They walked over to the cradle and watched in amazement as their daughter sucked on her left foot and gurgled.

"Damn and I thought you were flexible, Moony," Sirius joked.  He reached down and smoothed a lock of hair off her porcelain forehead.  "I can't believe how perfect she is.  She—she reminds me of a Bernie Botts strawberry cream bean."

Remus smiled fondly at his lover.  "Ah, you begin to wax poetic, my dear Padfoot."  He gently took Elizabeth's foot out of her mouth.  Elizabeth began to wave her arms begging to be picked up.  "May I?"  Sirius nodded and stepped back.

He bent down and lifted the squirming bundle of baby into his strong arms.  Rubbing his nose in her soft dark hair, he breathed deeply.  Elizabeth reached up and tugged on his chin length locks.  Giggling, she immediately put the hair in her little mouth.  

"We appear to have picked one with a voracious appetite."  Remus pried the hair out of her mouth.  Elizabeth swung backwards over his arm, rolling her head towards Sirius.  "Ba ba," she cried, reaching out for Sirius.  He winked at the look of consternation Remus shot him and eagerly reached for her. She giggled again and instantly reached for one of his black locks.

Remus laughed.  "And you thought she wanted _you."_

Sirius smiled sheepishly.  "Come sweetheart; let's get you a bite to eat."

**********

"Right then, all right, all right, we can do this.  Moony, if you would be so kind as to hand me the towel."  Remus looked quizzically at Sirius.

"Ahem.  Ah, Sirius, you know that you have to lift her dress first."

Sirius pulled the little white cotton dress up over her stomach.  She grabbed hold of it and tried to cover her head.  He tugged gently, and she promptly rolled to her side toward the edge of the table.  "Elizabeth!" he cried.  "Moony, come make her stay still.  Put an impedimenta spell on her or something!"

"She's just a baby, Padfoot.  Molly said that they never like to stay still.  We can't _make her do something using magic," Remus frowned._

"Ever noble," Sirius teased half-heartedly.  Grabbing his daughter by her nappy, he hauled her back.  "Elizabeth," he reasoned, "you need a clean nappy.  _Stay still."_

Elizabeth Lupin-Black laid quietly, her violet eyes following the movements of the frowning man looming above.  Sirius breathed in relief and proceeded to gingerly remove the soiled nappy.  

"Argh," he cried in disgust.  "Moony, I _have to be able to use a cleaning spell.  C'mon, this is just too awful."  His nose wrinkled in disgust.  "What were they feeding her?"_

Remus cast a quick anti-smelling charm on the room.  "We should know how to do it both ways.  What if we're ever in a place where magic is prohibited?"  He walked over to the bookshelf and looked for the guide on basic baby care.  "Besides, Padfoot," he called over his shoulder, "I've always wanted to see you up to your elbows in _you know what."_

"Don't be so smug, Moony.  The next one is yours—aw bloody hell, _Elizabeth."_

"Sirius!  Don't swear.  Aha."  He pulled down the guide and muttered, "Nappy duty."  The book flipped open to the correct section.  He smiled, reminding himself to thank Molly for the helpful spell.  Reading the passage, he walked over to his family.  "It says here that you should use a soft cloth with warm water and a mild soap if you don't have any wipes and—what _happened?"  He surveyed the scene in amazement.  Sirius and Elizabeth stared each other down with identical frowns, neither of them moving.  Her soiled nappy had managed to spread its contents everywhere.         _

"Ah, Padfoot," he began hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to laugh at the way Elizabeth mimicked her father or cry at the stains on his freshly painted wall.

"Remus, I have this under control.  Why don't you go below and make her a bottle.  I'll finish up here."  Remus looked at him worriedly.  Making his way to the door, he peeked back.  Neither one had yet to move.  Smiling inwardly, he went to do as his mate ordered.

**********

            Life was filled with wonders.  Exuberance of the type he had never known filled his soul the brim, and the wolf struggled furiously with the man as howl after howl threatened to break free.  Giddiness, the swing you around by your arms until you feel weightless type, caught Remus off guard, and much to his amusement, he found himself twirling his wand like a baton.  Several failed attempts and numerous clatters on the floor later, Remus settled himself in the armchair to read a letter from Cecilia Bracey.  He tossed his wand/baton to the side table rather ruefully and yawned.  

September 28

From: Miss Cecilia Bracey, Ward 1 IWPA

To: Mr. Remus Lupin and Mr. Sirius Black

Dear Gentlemen,

It was a pleasure making your acquaintance this afternoon.  I hope Elizabeth has settled in.  I have complete faith in your abilities as parents and know that she will benefit from growing up in such a loving atmosphere.  

I am enclosing Elizabeth's IWPA Birth Certificate and medical history.  Miss Lancaster forgot to pass this to you.  I also wanted to inform you that Miss Genevieve Powell will be the caseworker assigned to your first house visitation.  She will arrive on October 15, at half past ten in the morning.  I trust you will be comfortable with her.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if anything should arise.  Miss Lancaster frowns upon contact with the families; however, if you make the letter appear to be of a personal nature she will not interfere.   I would very much like to be informed as to little Elizabeth's progress.

Cordially,

Cecilia Bracey

P.S. Elizabeth is a very active child and Genevieve found it useful to use the impedimenta spell when changing her.    

            Laughter pealed through the front room.  _Oh, the expression on Sirius' face was too priceless, Remus howled in remembrance.  He stood and moved to add another log to the fire.  Bending down, he recalled the fuss he made over the dust.  A twinge of remorse shook him as he thought of Sirius slaving away the whole afternoon.  __How insignificant it seems now.  He stared into the fire and thought of the expression of sheer joy that graced his lover's stoic features as their daughter snuggled into his arms for comfort before falling asleep._

            "Moony?"

            Remus turned, a smile spreading over his face.  Sirius stood there proudly, Elizabeth sitting up in the cradle of his arms.  Her dark brown hair was damp from her bath, and she donned a very familiar maroon sleeper set with a little sleeping lamb gracing the front.  She smiled up at Remus and he felt his heart catch in his throat.  The room filled with the scent of talc powder and sweetness.  Suppressing the urge to run across the room and shower her little face with kisses, he just stood there and took in the emotions swirling around his mind.

            "I have her bottle here," he said softly.  

            Sirius remained in the same spot, his arms pulling her a little tighter.  Holding her reminded him of a night like this almost 23 years ago.  

_James and Lily stood in front of him, Lily smiling benevolently, James with a very Marauder-like twinkle in his eyes.  _

_"If you drop him," James warned, "You're going to answer to me if he can't play Quidditch due to a lack of balance."  _

_Lily poked him in the side.  "Let Sirius try.  He needs to practice.  Some day he'll be a daddy."  James moved forward and placed a beautiful black-haired baby with the most gorgeous green eyes into his godfather's arms.  _

_"Watch his head," he cautioned.  _

_Sirius pulled the little body into his arms and melted when the little boy reached up and tugged on his jumper.  "Hello Harry," he whispered.  "Hello you amazing little mischief maker.  Just wait until you are older."  _

_Lily wrapped her arm around James' waist, her own green eyes sparkling with unshed tears.  She didn't even bother to break the magic of the moment by chiding Sirius about his intentions.  "Isn't he perfect with him?"  James nodded in immediate agreement.  Sirius was his best mate, closer to him than any brother could ever be.  Watching him hold his son moved him deeply.  _

_"Lily, grab the camera, love.  We need to get a photo of this."  Lily ran to get the camera as James continued to watch Sirius rocking his son, his tall frame moving with surprising grace.  Lily returned and placed the camera in his hands.  "Sirius," he called, "Look over here." _

_ Sirius and Harry both looked over at the voice.  Harry's eyes crinkled as he smiled at his dad's voice.  Click!  _

_"There," Lily sighed in happiness.  "You've been immortalized, boys."  _

_Sirius looked proudly at the messy haired child.  "Do you think I'll ever have this?" he asked wistfully.  _

_James nodded firmly.  "Padfoot, you'll surprise even yourself."_

            "Padfoot?"

            Sirius smiled at the concern in his lover's voice.  He wished Remus had been there that night but it had been right after the full moon and he needed to rest.  "I was just remembering the first time I held Harry."

            Remus nodded, understanding the mists of memories that overtook them both at times.  "He was the first miracle to come out of all of our friendships.  Sirius," he paused, trying to organize his thoughts in a coherent manner.  "Sirius, I _know that James and Lily are watching us this very minute, and you know what?  They're filled with joy.  They are," he affirmed, "just so pleased that we have finally given ourselves the happiness they experienced with Harry.  It's a gift, a precious wonderful gift, and __you, Elizabeth," he walked across the room and gripped her soft plump hands in his own strong ones.  "You are __our miracle.  Harry is going to be so happy to have a little sister."_

            Sirius's eyes didn't know where to look, so he focused on way that tree Remus had nagged him for weeks to trim rapped sharply against the pane.  _Tomorrow I'll take care of that.  His insides were such a conflict of emotions—happiness, wonderment, anger, grief, and __love…  He thought his heart would burst with the amount of love he felt for Remus and Elizabeth, and at the same time, his heart had never felt more whole.  _

            Elizabeth squirmed slightly in his arms.  Remus took her from Sirius and walked over to the chair.  He settled himself in and marveled at the way her little lips sucked greedily on the nipple.  Small fingers reached up to hold the bottle.  Nature's instinct needed no better guide.  

            "She's very independent, Padfoot.  I don't think you have any cause for concern.  She'll be out-maraudering you pretty soon," he teased.

            Sirius laughed with pleasure.  "I have to consult Charlie and see if he knows of any child-proof broom spells.  She's already rolling about and propping herself up on those fat little arms.  It won't be long before she should learn to fly."  He propped himself on the arm of the chair.  Remus playfully cuffed his head.

            "She's not even six months old, Paddy!  Let her learn to walk first!"

            "My mum said I learned to fly before I walked.  I think she's going to take after me.  What's this?" he pulled out the letter from the side of the chair.

            "Oh, it's from Cecilia.  She sent us Elizabeth's birth certificate and wanted to know if she could keep in touch."  Remus gently wiped a trail of milk from Elizabeth's chin with the pad of his thumb.  

            Sirius read the letter silently.  "She was a decent sort.  Very kind.  Now that _Lancaster woman—"_

            Remus shot him a pained expression.  

            "Well, I suppose it's good that Genevieve is our caseworker.  She seemed reasonable enough."  

            Remus nodded.  He had no desire to speak of the vileness Margaret Lancaster had show to them, _to him, he amended.  His very insides churned unpleasantly when thinking about that afternoon.  He hated that his happiest day, the day he became a father, was tainted with such bitterness.  He shifted his daughter's head slightly on his arm and motioned towards the fire.  "It's very chilly tonight.  Perhaps we had better light a fire in the bedroom, hmm?"_

            Sirius watched him carefully.  Avoidance was one of Moony's favorite tools when it came to dealing with his own problems.  Anyone else's problems and one couldn't get him to shut up.  "All right, Moony," he sighed in resignation.  "Bring her up to bed when you are finished?"

            Remus grunted in acquiescence and stroked her downy cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin.  He watched as lids closed over her violet eyes, blinking slower and slower as the hands of sleep gripped her.  As he sat there in the silence of the room, he became very determined that she should _not grow up with nightmares or fears of any type.  He placed the bottle to the side and ran his gentle hand down her neck and followed a path over her chest, her little round belly, and soft plump legs.  He drew his hand up and caressed the shells of her ears, wondering at their perfection and symmetry.  He had held Harry numerous times, but he couldn't recall holding him while he slept.  His daughter slumbered, her chest rising with each breath.  Her eyes danced beneath veined lids, and she hiccupped once in her sleep.  He wondered what babies dreamt.  _

            Standing, he whispered the spell to bank the fire and moved quietly to the staircase.  Climbing, he recalled that this time last night the little cradle was empty.  His body warmed in exhilaration.  Never had he experienced this type of peace.  _Love with Sirius, all emotions with Sirius, he amended, __existed on one all encompassing plane.  __Elizabeth, however, was a fulfillment of a million other dreams.  He just hoped fervently that he wouldn't disappoint her.               _

            Entering their bedroom, he breathed in a sigh of surprise.  Sirius lay in bed, his gleaming tan chest glowing in the firelight.  Candles were lit on the bedside tables casting a soft yellow light in the cozy room.  

            Putting aside the book he was reading, Sirius asked quietly, "Is she asleep?"

            Remus nodded.  He pushed aside the little yellow quilt and laid her gently on her back, a trick Molly pounded in their heads before she took her leave two nights ago.  She nestled her head on the soft white sheets.  He gently drew the blanket up over her and kissed her gently.  Sirius joined him and leaned forward to plant his own kiss on her forehead.

            "We love you, Elizabeth," Sirius whispered.  Pulling Remus away, he climbed back in bed and settled the blankets.  "Burr… it is getting chilly." 

            Remus walked into the bathroom and spread toothpaste on his toothbrush.  The man in the reflection scrubbed his teeth absently, the muscles in his cheeks moving to the rhythm of the brush.  Surprisingly, there was no noticeable change in the man in the mirror.  The rather long tawny hair fell in the same manner as it had this morning, sharp collarbones protruded over the smooth length of torso, and the sleek cut muscles of his upper arms tensed and un-tensed as he squeezed his fists.   _Funny, he thought, __for I feel transformed.  He changed quickly out of his clothes and got ready for bed.  "What are you reading, love?"_

            Sirius blushed.  He held up his book.  _A Daddy's Guide to Handling Tantrums—How to Tame Even the Most Rambunctious Wizard or Witch._

            Remus tried to keep his laughter low.  

            Sirius shrugged.  "She gave me a run for my money, Moony!  Even _Genevieve uses the impedimenta spell!"  He ducked as Remus chucked his pillow at him._

            "You can't use magic for _everything, Padfoot.  I suppose I'll learn my lesson tomorrow and probably regret ever saying that though."_

            "Yeah, you and your feather dusters and your damn burnt eggs," he teased, whacking him back with his own pillow. 

            Remus dodged the pillow and smoothly executed another strike right on the mark.  Smiling contentedly, he lay back and propped his head up with his hands.            

            "Hey, how old do you think Cecilia is?"

            Remus shook his head.  "I don't know.  Late twenties perhaps?  Why?"

            Sirius pounded his pillow.  Remus always made them far too fluffy.  "I don't know.  I was thinking that we should introduce her to Charlie.  It's not healthy for her to work in such conditions.  I wonder why she stays."

            His lover propped himself up on his elbow and lazily traced a path down the smooth expanse of chest presented to him.  "Playing matchmaker, hmm Sirius?"    

            He blushed then shivered as Moony hit a particularly sensitive spot on his ribcage.  Remus watched him and ran his nail across the same spot.  Sirius jerked.  Remus repeated the torture again.  

            "Just say when," he whispered.

            Sirius clamped his mouth shut.  

            "All right, have it your way then," Remus growled.  He rolled to his side and executed a quick silencing charm.  "Now then, has my poor baby had a hard day?"  Sirius tried to remain nonchalant, a slight smile cracking through.  "Ah," Remus continued in a seductive voice, "I think the answer is yes but someone's afraid to answer."  He shifted positions so that he lay partially over his lover.  With great purpose, he traced the individual ripples of muscle on Sirius' broad chest with his soft tongue.  Sirius groaned aloud as Remus hit the spot on his ribcage.  

            Remus raised glowing golden eyes and locked his piercing gaze with the fiery blue eyes staring down at him.  Reaching upwards with his head, he slowly pressed his lips to the other man's.  He deliberately traced the outline of Sirius' luscious mouth with his pointed tongue before capturing one of the soft lips between his teeth.  He pulled the morsel into his mouth and proceeded to suck.  Sirius raised his hands and began to smooth a path down his lover's sleek back, taking special care to stop right before he reached the soft creamy skin of his lover's rear.  He pulled his fingers back up and then dragged his nails down in a sweeping motion.

            The men groaned in each other's mouths as ecstasy took over.  Their tongues collided as Remus released Sirius's swollen lip.  Sleek wet muscles danced madly, passionately, in a wild chase back and forth between the two caverns.  Hazily, Remus wondered how he survived the whole afternoon without kissing his mate once.  He pulled back, panting.  Passion-filled blue eyes bore deeply into his soul, seeking fulfillment.  Remus knew that he had reached the point where he couldn't turn back.  _And we haven't done anything but kiss, he thought ruefully.  __Each time it just gets better…_

            "Do you think…?" Sirius began thickly, nodding towards the cradle.  Remus glanced down once again and was amused by the love and desire he saw mirrored in his lover's eyes.  Growling, he reached down with his hand and searched for hidden treasures.  Sirius bucked his hips off the bed.

            "I beyond thinking right now, love…" Remus whispered against his lips before pulling him into another soul-searching kiss.      

"Good," Sirius groaned.  "Because I have to tell you now that I love you before I completely lose my mind."

            "I love you too, Sirius, god how I love you…" he paused, then added slowly, "Thank you for being my family."  

Sirius pulled him down into his arms and held him tightly, his emotions tumbling about madly.  Raising Remus' face he playfully kissed both cheeks.  "You have _always been my family, Moony.  Now, let's get back to business.  __No magic allowed."    _


	6. Enter Harry

A/N: Perhaps it's just me, but if I knew an author had several completed chapters all set for uploading—and he/she chose to hold back—I'd be livid!!  So… as not to turn into my own worst nightmare, I shall continue to post a few more chapters tonight… at least up to the point where things really start to bubble and boil.  Please review—I'd love to know what everyone thinks!  Get ready for a long, lovely, anxiety filled ride…

Chapter 6

            An indignant wail pierced the silence.  The room was still cloaked in darkness and the remaining embers in the fireplace blinked weakly.  Outside, the star speckled indigo sky enveloped the little cottage, broken up only by a wispy spiral of smoke curling its way out of the chimney on the north side of the house.  The older occupants of the house slept on, buried deep under warm covers.  Their hands were clasped tightly, their long legs wrapped around each other in a firm embrace.

            The wailing continued with each proceeding cry, stronger and more forceful than the last.  Startled, Sirius sat up.  He felt incredibly disoriented and struggled to figure out where that god-awful sound was coming from.  Remus continued to lie on his stomach, his head swallowed by his enormous pillow.  Groggily, Sirius reached for his wand.  "_Lumos," he whispered.  In the glow of the faint yellow light, he glanced quickly around the room, his eyes finally falling on the cradle._

            "Gods," he croaked, throwing the blankets aside.  Shivering, he stumbled across the room, fumbling for his dressing gown.  He rushed to the cradle and quickly picked up his sobbing daughter.  "Shush, shh…" he patted her on the back and rocked her gently in his arms.  "'S all right, sweetheart, Daddy's here."  He ran his hands up her back and frowned at how cold she seemed.  She continued to cry great gulping sobs, her little eyes screwed shut.  Making his way back across the room, he grabbed his wand and cast a quick warming spell in the room.  With another swish, three logs flew into the fireplace and began crackling madly.  

            Sirius reached for her little blanket and bundled her quickly.  Elizabeth's sobs quieted slightly as she buried her face in his warm chest.  

            Remus sat up tiredly.  "I'll just go get her bottle then."  Frowning, he squinted at the clock on the mantle.  "Half past three?" he groaned.  He pulled on his dressing gown and made his way down the hall.  "Ow!  Bloody wall…"

            Sirius chucked and jiggled Elizabeth.  "Daddy Remus isn't too happy, sweetheart.  You'll learn that he's a cranky fellow when he's tired."  She continued to whimper.  "I think it's going to be a long night," he yawned, sitting in the rocker and wrapping the lap blanket securely around them.  

            Remus struggled back up the stairs and into the bedroom.  Sirius looked up at him and grinned.  "Don't even _think about going back to sleep, Moony," he said taking the bottle from his outstretched hand.  Yawning his complaints, Remus sat on the floor and propped his back against the bed, jumping when Sirius snaked out a foot and kicked him._

**********

            In the soft luminescent light from the autumn sunset, Harry apparated onto the front steps of the little cottage.  He knocked quickly, his stomach fluttering in eager anticipation.  Stepping back, he smiled broadly as his godfather yanked open the door.  The warm smell of freshly baked gingerbread tantalized his senses.  His nose wrinkled in appreciation.

            "Harry, you rascal!  Come in," Sirius cried in delight at the welcome sight.  He propelled Harry into the front hall and quickly shut the door.  "Brr… it's getting a bit nippy out there, eh?"

            Unwinding his red and gold scarf, Harry quickly hung up his robes and nodded in agreement.  "Hermione swears this is the coldest September we've had in over one hundred and twelve years—pulled it out of some almanac of sorts."  Smiling, his bright green eyes looked past the tall man in front of him and scanned what he could see of the front room.  "Where's Elizabeth?"

            "I've worn out my novelty, eh?"

            Harry punched him playfully on the shoulder as his godfather started a quick scuffle in the front hall.  He opened his mouth to quip about older wizards becoming slow in their old age when his eyes fell upon a little baby sitting calmly in Remus' arms.  Heart pounding, he stood awkwardly, his palms beginning to sweat.  He couldn't believe how small she was—and _her eyes __are purple? He thought in amazement.  Suddenly at a loss for words he simply stared._

            Watching the scene with a great deal of amusement, Sirius gently prodded the younger wizard forward.  "She doesn't bite, you know.  She only has three teeth and a bunch of drooling gums."  Harry smiled blankly at him.  "Ah, c'mon.  Elizabeth Lupin-Black, please make the acquaintance of the closest relation to the gaping carp, Harry James Potter.  He's—" Sirius paused, glancing at Harry.  "He's your older brother," he finished, the little Sirius in his head pirouetting across the floor.

            Harry's eyes widened.  Feeling as if he was regaining a semblance of normalcy, he reached out hesitantly with his index finger.  Elizabeth immediately grabbed the offering and pulled it into her mouth.  "Oh…" he cried as her soft tongue licked his nail.  "Elizabeth, you don't even want to _know where that's been."  _

            Remus observed Harry's behavior and was startled to remember that this was most likely the first time Harry had ever been with a baby.  Smiling kindly, he inclined his head and said encouragingly, "You are a natural with her, Harry.  Would you care to hold her?"

            Sirius picked up Harry's heavy arms and stretched them out full length.  Harry held her clumsily out from his chest and she squirmed impatiently.  Remus gently pushed her closer, and Harry's breath caught in his throat as she reached up and stroked his cheek.  Swallowing nervously, he glanced up at Remus to make sure he was doing this correctly.  Encouraged by Remus' nod, he shifted her slightly, nestling her little bottom on his forearm and supporting her back with his other hand.  Laughing delightedly, he rubbed noses with her.  "Do I—what do I say to her?" he asked after a moment.  _Sweet Merlin, he laughed to himself, __Heaven help me if I have to do this on my own!_

            "Whatever comes in your mind, although Remus _does suggest we keep the Quidditch talk to a minimum."  Remus rolled his eyes and gestured for them to follow him into the front room.  _

            "Tea?" he called over his shoulder.  "You're in luck, Harry.  I had the urge to bake today."  

Sirius and Harry followed, Elizabeth pulling on Harry's wire glasses.  He tried to pry her fingers away but realized just how strong her grip was.    Appraising her admiringly, he whispered so that only Sirius could hear, "You have a promising grip—just right to hold a quaffle."  Sirius roared with laughter.

Entering the front room, Harry noticed that all of Remus' books were on shelves or in the window seat.  He had grown accustomed to seeing precariously stacked piles on every available inch of floor space.  A soft multi-colored rug graced the hardwood floor, and a little pink checkered blanket lay in its center.  The fire poker and wood basket floated a few inches off the floor much to Harry's amusement.  Staring at the edge of the coffee table, he ran a hand inquiringly around its blurry corners.  Instead of the usual hard edges, a soft feathery texture met his touch. 

"So this is the result of wizard child proofing your house?"  He laughed again at the sight of the floating objects.

Sirius chuckled.  "It's only the beginning, my dear boy.  Remus consulted several wizard parenting guides on practical application and followed the methods corresponding to her exact age—to the day, mind you.  He wouldn't even consider the fact that she seems a bit advanced for her age—but once a book expert, always a book expert."  Nudging Harry, he winked.  "Better warn Hermione—or better yet, warn _Ron.  After all, he's going to be the one who has to deal with these crazy neurotic tendencies."    _

"I heard that, Padfoot!" Remus' voice came faintly from the kitchen.  

Sirius shrugged.  With an innocent expression of his face, Harry said calmly, "Well, it's too bad for Elizabeth that Remus has such sensitive ears.  How's she ever going to sneak out for a bit of fun?" Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he continued in the same tone, "Perhaps I should lend her my invisibility cloak."

Frowning, Sirius bopped Harry on the head with his wand.  "There'll be none of that.  I don't want her to fall prey to a younger version of me, for god's sake."  He shuddered at the mental image of his daughter falling in the clutches of an incorrigible rascal like himself.  "Besides," he added, "if she's going to pull any Marauder pranks, I fully expect to be present."          

"Here," Sirius took Elizabeth from Harry's arms and placed her on the blanket.  "She likes it down here."  Elizabeth quickly scrambled out of his hold and immediately rolled to her stomach.  "She can't crawl yet, but she can scoot really fast on her stomach."

Harry sat on the floor next to her and started building a structure out of soft blocks decorated with stars and constellations.  "Hermione?" he asked in amusement.  When he didn't receive a reply, he glanced over to find Sirius sitting quietly in that horrific armchair, a smile permanently fixed upon his handsome features.  He noticed that his godfather had faint circles under his eyes and a fine layer of stubble on his face.  Soft lashes began to blink heavily as the minutes passed.  "That chair is pretty terrible," Harry called out in a loud voice.  "Why don't you at least transform the flowers into some type of pattern?"

            Blinking, Sirius looked down.  "I guess I haven't really even noticed.  Moony has a lot of affection for this piece—it was his mum's favorite."

            Pushing Elizabeth back to the center of the blanket, Harry wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees.  He wondered if Mrs. Lupin sat in that very chair and watched her little son play.  He shivered at the thought of Elizabeth at five wandering into the forest and becoming prey to a werewolf.  _Not Remus, he amended quickly, __just a hypothetical werewolf.  But Mrs. Lupin must have never thought that something so horrific would have ever happened to __her child.  He suddenly realized that, for having Sirius and Remus as the closest thing to parents, he knew very little about their childhoods and the parents that raised them.  A family tree missing half its leaves….      _

            _I'm twenty-four years old, he thought in astonishment.  __My parents were never this old.  The sudden realization of knowing he was __older than his parents unsettled him greatly.  In his mind, James and Lily were his parents, and by virtue of the title, were older than him.  Shuddering, he felt the cold clammy hands of the past filter through his veins, the far-reaching tentacles of ice snatching his breath._

            "Don't, Harry."  Remus' voice floated down from a distance that seemed so far away and slightly surreal, admonishing in its tone but very kind nevertheless.  Setting down the tea service, he scooted Elizabeth back onto the blanket.  "I know what you are doing and it won't help to rehash all the 'what-ifs'.  They'll just drive you crazy.  I know," he finished quietly.  

            Harry picked at a snag in his jumper.  He frowned at Remus' well-intended words; feeling prickles of anger bubble up inside and thaw his frozen veins.  

            Sirius head swiveled back and forth between his lover and his godson and silently moved to accept the tea Remus offered.  Golden streams of liquid were poured into a third cup.            

            Remus settled himself on the couch and sipped his tea with a false air of calmness.  He could sense the underlying urgency in Harry and was determined to keep him from wallowing in unpleasant memories—even at the risk of drawing anger to himself.

            "Oh, yeah?" Harry said bitterly.  Ignoring the tea Remus held out, he drew his knees tighter to his chest.  "My parents didn't even live to be my age.  Didja know that?  James wasn't even as old as me… ever…"  In his petulant state, everything in the little house reminded him of something his parents never had, and he was greatly annoyed.  The framed pictures gracing the walls taken of his father with his best mates sparked rancor in his soul.  He wanted to hit something—hit something hard.  Sound reasoning and judgment were discarded as evil little Harry cackled from his shoulder, cracking his whip as he brought forth each unpleasant memory.  _Selfish little brat, you're not really part of this family.  Don't fall prey to these temporary illusions of grandeur.  They have her now…  _

The stricken look on Sirius' face drew Harry up with a start.  _Gods, he swallowed.  __What the hell!  Am I a child or a man?  He couldn't recall the last time he had allowed himself to wallow in the murky depths of self-pity._

            "I—I'm _so __sorry, Sirius—" he stammered, discomfited at his lack of tact.  His cheeks flamed as Sirius and Remus exchanged glances.  _

            Raising a hand, Sirius simply sipped his tea.  Feeling incredibly immature, Harry began to grow squirm with embarrassment.  Wondering if his godfather was ever going to speak, he cracked his knuckles anxiously, distractedly noticing the fine white scars covering his hands from various Quidditch accidents.  

Sirius finally spoke in a quiet voice filled with sadness.  "It's fine, Harry.  And you're right.  James _didn't see the age of twenty-four.  But he was the happiest bloke I have ever known, and I am certain that he wouldn't want you to be unhappy—he'd hate to know that your life has been filled with such pain."    _

            "I didn't mean to sound like such an ungrateful child," Harry mumbled.  "It's just… seeing you with Elizabeth and all made me remember that my parents probably sat just like this, watching me roll around on the floor..."

            "And eat your feet?" Remus asked lightly, arching an eyebrow.   

            Harry quirked his lip.  Looking up at the faces of the men he had grown to love and respect, he squirmed uncomfortably at the knowledge that he had dredged up the very memories Remus had cautioned against.  Sighing, he picked up his cup and took a sip.  _At least Jasmine tea is normal._

            Breaking the heavy silence, Sirius turned to Harry and asked lightly, "Where is the gorgeous red-head that always seems to hang on your arm?"

            "She's grading examinations that her ten-year olds wrote last Friday," he said with a smile in his voice. 

            "Ah… grading examinations.  I truly miss those days," Remus reminisced fondly.  Sirius laughed at Moony's woebegone expression. 

            "I'll give you something to grade, _Professor Lupin," he teased.  _

            Exchanging amused glances, Remus and Sirius sipped their tea innocently under their godson's penetrating stare.  Harry flushed slightly.  He had grown accustomed to his godfathers' sexual banter, but he still couldn't control his face.  _This must be how Ginny feels when she blushes, he thought wryly._

            Feeling more like a human and less of a devil child, Harry smiled and tickled his little sister again.  Elizabeth squealed in pleasure as he swung her up in the air.  A string of drool dripped onto his glasses.  "Argh!" he cried out in mock disgust.  "Taking lessons from Padfoot, huh, Lizzie?"

            "Lizzie?" Remus smiled.  He tucked his long legs underneath him and leaned back on the couch, propping his head on his hand.  He drew in a deep contented breath. His ever observant eyes took in the little idyllic scene playing out before him, and he thought of birthdays and Christmases.  _Family is such an interesting concept, he thought bemusedly.  Prior to Elizabeth, Sirius was his entire life—the one individual that depended on his strength and wisdom, his carefully constructed advice and his gentle smiles that greeted the other man in the morning.  And now it dawned on him that he was once again __Professor Lupin to this little impressionable girl.  Her entire wellbeing depended upon Sirius and him… __but it is more than that, he thought in amazement.  __We are responsible for cultivating her mind and developing both her intellect and sense of right and wrong.  The magnitude of the responsibilities lying before him shook his confidence slightly.       _

            Harry turned and grinned.  "I think Elizabeth is too long of a name for such a little witch.  Lizzie suits her.  Lizzie the little witch."  He chucked her under the chin before placing her back on the blanket.  Rubbing his glasses on his shirt, he put out a foot to keep her from rolling off the blanket.  "Where did Sirius go?"

            "He just ran upstairs for a moment."  At Harry's worried expression, Remus hurried to soothe him.  "Did he show you the nursery? You should have seen how impressed he was when he managed to get the Quidditch players to stick on the wall," Remus said proudly.  

            With a fond glance, Harry watched the little girl prop herself up with her arms and fall down, giggle, then repeat the process.  _Elizabeth__ certainly is determined, he thought in amazement.  Unable to resist the urge, he scooped her up again and twirled her about the room.  She threw her head back and screamed in pleasure.  An equally thrilling sensation of protectiveness developed within his heart as the brotherly bonds of affection weaved their gossamer thin threads around the siblings.  _

            "Harry!  What are you doing?"

            Harry twirled Elizabeth around once more before lowering her to his shoulder.  Ginny stood in the doorway next to Sirius, her eyes filled with amusement.  "Oh, may I hold her, Remus?"

            "Certainly, Ginny.  It's a pleasure to see you.  Just put this towel on your shoulder."  He tossed a worn piece of cloth into her surprised hands.  "You'll see," he said with a twinkle lighting his golden eyes.

            Ginny's delicate hands reached out for Elizabeth, her heart thumping loudly within her chest.  Harry was watching her with the strangest expression in his eyes—a combination of happiness shadowed with something she couldn't define… and perhaps didn't want to.  He walked slowly to the woman standing in front of him, her soft red hair falling in waves around her ivory cashmere jumper.  He took in her warm brown eyes framed by long lashes, the sprinkling of freckles that decorated her perfect nose, and the way she stood with her shoulders back, her posture proud.  Swallowing hard, he slowly extended his arms and handed Elizabeth to her.

            "Hello," he whispered, kissing her lips softly.  "This _is a pleasant surprise."_

            She watched him wonderingly before taking the little girl and pulling her close.  Remus observed the moment between Harry and Ginny silently.  He watched as Harry's jaw clenched and wondered what was passing though the younger man's mind.  Staring at Ginny, he suddenly realized how closely she resembled Lily holding Harry when he was an infant.  Stunned, he caught Harry's green eyes.  Harry nodded quickly, letting his second godfather know that he, too, understood the poignancy of the moment.

            "Oh, oh!"  Ginny squealed.  She frowned at the white mess covering the towel.  "You were correct as usual, Remus," she said ruefully, wiping Elizabeth's mouth carefully.  "Come here, you beautiful thing you.  Let's get you cleaned up before your brother Harry does anything else to upset your little tummy."  

            Laughing delightedly, Harry and Sirius followed her up the stairs.

            Remus added a few logs to the fire and lit the candles on the mantle.  Twilight passed slowly over the little cottage, casting long shadows in the room.  He walked softly to the window seat and absently righted a wobbly 1st edition of _Hogwarts, a History.  He was just pulling the gold cords to draw the heavy cranberry drapes closed, when the front doorbell rang.  Puzzled, he crossed the house and opened the door.  _

            "Cecilia!"

            Cecilia spun around, rubbing her arms briskly over her thin brown wool robes.  Smiling brightly, she cried, "Surprise!"  The fall wind kicked up a little hurricane of dry leaves on the walkway.  Stamping her feet slightly, she shivered, her eyes beginning to cloud with apprehension.  _Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea to come unannounced, she worried.  Glancing past the open door, she began haltingly, "Perhaps this isn't an ideal time for a visit, Mr. Lupin…"_

            Shaking his head, Remus gripped her hand and pulled her into the house.  Smiling kindly, he held out his hand for her robe.  "No, pardon me for being so rude, Cecilia.  You took me by surprise, that's all."

            Cecilia followed him into the front room, her eyes hungrily taking in the cozy furnishings and all the pictures waving happily from the walls.  _Everything in the little house speaks of love and family, she surmised wistfully.  _

            "Would you care to join me in a cup of tea, Cecilia?"

            Smiling, she accepted his offer and moved to the fire to warm her cold hands.  

            Remus handed her a cup in a fine china pattern.  Thanking him, she raised the steaming liquid to her lips.  He took as seat on the couch and waited for her to begin.

            "How is Elizabeth?" 

            "She is doing well," he began cautiously, wondering if this was to be one of the unannounced visits Margaret had warned about.  

            Cecilia noticed his guarded expression and crossed the room to sit next to him.  "Mr. Lupin, I am not here on IWPA business.  I—I just wanted to see how she is doing.  She's the first one to be adopted in a very long time…" she finished lamely by means of explanation.

            Remus visibly relaxed.  "Cecilia, please call me Remus."  He patted her gently on the knee.  "How have you been?  Are you well?" he asked after a moment.  He scanned her face carefully.  Her bright blue eyes were clouded and the pallor in her cheeks was a sharp contrast to their rosyness the other day.  "Cecilia, does Margaret know you're here?"

            She twisted a lock of curly brown hair between her fingers.  Reaching back, she nervously unfastened her hairclip, a riot of curls tumbling around her shoulders.  "It's a bit windy out there, isn't it?"  Smiling nervously, she pulled her hair back and refastened the clasp.  Shifting, she twisted her hands in her lap.  Remus caught her cup and saucer before they took a tumble.  "Oh, sorry," she faltered.

            "Cecilia, I won't tell anyone you are here.  Will that help?"  

            "Yes… and yes, Miss Lancaster doesn't know I'm here," she whispered softly.    

            "Why are you _really here?" he asked in guarded tones.  _

            She shook her head.  "Well I… you see there's something… you know," she laughed nervously, "I just missed her, that's all."  

            Remus felt the strange urge to shake some coherency into her.  "Cecilia, I don't understand… Is Elizabeth in danger?"  His heart began to pound as his gaze automatically spun to the staircase.  

            Before she could answer, Sirius, Harry, and Ginny paraded noisily down the stairs, Elizabeth cradled lovingly in Ginny's arms.  Cecilia's eyes lit up as she saw the little mahogany haired girl.

            "Elizabeth!" she cried, moving from the couch and rushing to Ginny's side.  Ginny's eyes met Remus'.   His lips formed a smile that quite didn't reach his eyes.  

            "Cecilia," Sirius called from the doorway.  "What a pleasure!  What brings you by today?"  Harry and Ginny stood next to him, observing the stranger curiously.  She was a pretty witch who appeared to be only few years older than them.  She didn't look familiar though, and neither could remember ever seeing her at Hogwarts. 

            Remus stood and made the introductions.  "Cecilia Bracey, Harry Potter," Cecilia blinked once.  "And this is his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley.  They are Cecilia's godparents.  Harry, Ginny, this is Elizabeth's nurse from the IWPA."

            They all smiled and exchanged pleasantries.  Sirius caught Remus' eye and inclined his head slightly.  Remus mouthed, "Later," and blew him a kiss.  Sirius laughed and caught it between his lips.  Harry poked Ginny in the ribs, amused as he watched this exchange. 

            Cecilia rubbed Elizabeth's cheeks between the pads of her fingers.  "Hello, darling," she crooned.  "What a cute little wolf you have on your tummy!"

            _Wolf?  Remus peered over at his daughter.  Sure enough, a miniature version of himself slumbered on his daughter's chest.  The wolf's ribcage moved slowly as it breathed.  "Padfoot!" he cried in mock distress.    _

            Sirius howled with delight.  "I didn't even see Harry select that one.  Good choice."  He winked devilishly.  Shaking his head, Remus moved to take his daughter.  Cradling her in his arms, he sat her in his lap, his worried expression focused on Cecilia.

**********

            The candelabra cast a brilliant ivory light over the occupants of the small dining room.  Remus had pulled out his mother's wedding china for the special occasion, and in the spirit of the festivities, had actually resorted to using magic in preparing the food after hungry moans and threats of eating Elizabeth came from the other room.   

            Remus leaned over in his chair and tugged Sirius close.  "There is something a bit off with Cecilia, don't you think?" he asked sharply.  The piercing keen expression Sirius easily recognized swirled in his golden orbs, the obsidian black of his pupils widening. 

            Sirius followed the direction of Remus' pointed look.  Cecilia was busy spoon feeding Elizabeth a jar of pureed carrots.  Shaking his head slightly, he wondered what was bothering Remus.  His lover sat stiffly in his chair, his plate of food untouched.        

"Remus," he asked, his voice laced with concern.  "What did Cecilia want when she arrived?  Does this have anything to do with—with Margaret's clause in the contract?"

            "I haven't a clue.  I couldn't get to her to make any sense. But her eyes, Paddy, she has that scared look I'm used to seeing in people's eyes when they have just discovered what I am."  Sirius reached under the table and closed his hand gently over Remus'.  The soothing contact between them helped to alleviate some of anxiety churning through Remus.  He deliberately shifted his hand so that their lifelines pressed together.  

            Sirius winked at him.  His warm understanding smile brought a flush to Remus' cheeks.

            "Remus, Sirius?" Ginny's voice called over to them.  They both jerked upright, and Sirius reached hastily for a roll and bit instead into a wadded napkin.

            Clearing his throat, he gingerly removed the inedible item and smoothed out its creases.  "It's a new trick," he said by means of explanation.  "I remember reading somewhere that wetting a wrinkled item will help to smooth it out." 

            Ginny blinked.  _What is going on?  She wondered.  __Remus is just sitting there not talking and Sirius has taken to practicing new housecleaning spells?  Deciding not to press the issue, she simply waited for Sirius to finish._

            "Uh, Sirius?" Harry interjected.  "If my memory serves me correctly, the wetting technique is usually done before _ironing—and then with a spray bottle of sorts."_

            "Ah, yes," Sirius smiled apologetically, leaving the napkin alone.  "It's no wonder all the napkins were in such a state!  I do apologize."

            Ginny, Harry, and Cecilia all looked at their napkins knowing full well that Sirius wasn't—well, serious.  But at the same time…  One by one, they all placed the offending item on their plates and pointedly ignored the humored looks Sirius threw them.

            "Was there something you wanted, Ginny?" Remus questioned, pinching Sirius' leg in an effort to stop the teasing.         

            Cecilia broke the silence when it became obvious that Ginny was at a loss for words.  "Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black?  I just want to thank you so much for allowing me to visit Elizabeth—even though I know I pretty much invited myself over," she said with a little laugh.  A bit of the old "Nurse Bracey" sparkle had returned to her wide blue eyes, and she no longer possessed the haunted look Remus had first observed.  Looking around the little dining room, she felt a great sense of relief swim over her.  _Odd, she though, __for I hardly know these men and I don't know their friends at all. Knowing __of Harry Potter and __knowing Harry Potter were two decidedly different things.  The young man sitting across from her laughing with amusement at a jest his girlfriend made was not the same man glorified in the Daily Prophet.  He seemed decidedly relaxed, comfortable even, and the wild frenzied look in his eyes that the photographers always managed to catch was gone. _

            She also knew she had made Mr. Lupin uncomfortable earlier and wondered worriedly how she was going to rectify the situation.  _The poor man hasn't eaten a bite, she noticed.  __He's simply watching me with a very guarded expression.  As if on cue, Remus caught her eye and she blushed, looking down quickly._

            Harry leaned over the table and cleared his throat to get Cecilia's attention.  "Did you attend Hogwarts?" he asked politely.

            "No," she stammered, still unsettled by Remus' gaze.  "I—I have been employed at the IWPA for the past ten years."

            Harry frowned slightly.  "But you must have received training outside of the country, then.  You can't be much older than we are and surely the IWPA doesn't hire nurses without formal MediWizard training."

            "Harry," Ginny chided softly as the older witch flushed.  

            Sirius watched with a raised eyebrow as Cecilia twirled her hair with one finger and flipped her fork over and back with the other hand.  

            Harry sighed.  Perhaps he had been a bit forward.  He opened his mouth to apologize for the second time that evening when Cecilia blurted out, "I waited for my letter to attend Hogwarts but it never came."

            _There, she thought in relief.  __That should shut them up for now.  Let them think that Hogwarts just didn't extend the invitation.  Anything is better than them knowing the truth._

            An uncomfortable silence ensued.  Remus reached up and pushed his hair behind his ears.  His highly sensitized senses knew that she wasn't being candid with them.  Frowning slightly, his golden eyes took on a pensive look.  A tiny wrinkle formed in his forehead as he rested his chin lightly on a propped up arm.  He watched carefully as Cecilia sat rigidly in her chair, her posture belying her unease.  

            Both Harry and Ginny were nonplussed.  This was not the answer they expected.  Certainly _all known wizards and witches in the United Kingdom were extended a Hogwarts invitation on their eleventh birthday.  They had never before heard of someone being __overlooked before.  Harry's green eyes registered their confusion behind his spectacles, and he held Ginny's gaze for a long moment before breaking away and glancing back at Cecilia._

            "Ten years?" Harry prodded.  "You've been a nurse that long?  Why you hardly look a day over twenty-five."

            "Harry!" Ginny hissed, embarrassed by his lack of tact.  Even Remus and Sirius looked surprised at this next line of questioning.  

            "I'm twenty-eight," she answered quietly.  "I began work officially when I turned eighteen.  Unofficially, I started when I was eleven."

            Pushing back his chair abruptly, Sirius walked around the table to Elizabeth's highchair.  The happy baby was oblivious to the heavy atmosphere threatening to swallow the occupants of the room.  She gleefully banged her spoon on her tray and babbled to herself.  Seeing Sirius approach, she immediately raised her arms to be picked up.

            "Hello sweetheart," he smiled.  His curly black locks still untainted by gray fell haphazardly around his face.  Casting a quick cleaning spell on the carrot dressed baby, he reached down and picked her up.  He tickled her gently on her tummy and she let out a peal of laughter.

            Turning to Remus, Ginny asked quietly, "When do you and Sirius have to report back to work?"

            Remus watched his mate tickle their daughter and the seriousness of the moment faded away temporarily.  Sirius often reminded him of a rather large child himself, and his interactions with Elizabeth were priceless.  Smiling, he knew deep down that despite all of his mischievous ways, Sirius was inherently responsible.  It was the fact that he often overlooked this trait that put Sirius into hot water so many times.  Remus shook his head as he thought of all the times in the past—pre-Azkaban—when he had to apparate to the constable's and bail him out.  Hand in hand would be the woebegone, sad puppy-eyed expression Padfoot would throw at him in an effort to alleviate some of Remus' anger—_and, he thought dryly, __it inevitably worked.  He simply lacked the ability to stay angry at his lover over trivial matters._

            "Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny," he said belatedly, realizing she was staring at him as he went through one of his many mental tangents.  "Pardon?"

            "I was just wondering when you and Sirius have to report back to work," she said laughing. 

            "Oh—I've worked out a leave program with the Ministry so that I can stay at home with Elizabeth.  Translating international documents pertaining to the espionage surrounding the dark arts can be easily done at home, you know," Remus said with a slightly mocking tone evident as he described his job responsibilities.  "Sirius, on the other hand, has to report back to the Ministry in two weeks"

            Perplexed, Ginny glanced over at Sirius, who was in a close discussion with Cecilia and Harry.  "But, Remus, isn't Sirius' new job going to take him away for long periods of time?  At least that's what Percy alluded to."

            Remus nodded resignedly.  "That's the downfall—he's now assigned to work with Harry and the rest of the Aurors in an effort to clean up the remainder of Voldermort's cells.  I believe the next assignment is in Venezuela."

            Ginny sighed and leaned back in her chair.  "I hate that he's gone so much, Remus.  Sometimes months will pass and I won't have seen him once."  She watched as the man she had been in love with for the past twelve years covered his eyes in a game of peek-a-boo.  "I used to think that when school and the war were over we would be able to lead a normal life—one where waking up next to each other would be the norm… not the exception," she whispered morosely.      

            "Harry loves you Ginny.  I am sure I needn't reassure you of that point, and I know he would love nothing more than to wake up with you in his arms every morning.  However, like his father—like Sirius sometimes—he has a rather strong streak of altruistic tendencies hindered by an often misplaced sense of independence.  They all tend to put others before themselves.  James altered his course slightly when he fell in love with Lily, but even then, he would have stopped at nothing should harm come her way."  Remus' warm expression comforted her slightly.  "Harry is the same way.  He places such an importance in righting the scale between right and wrong that I think this sometimes clouds his personal relationships.  But, Ginny, his countenance brightens in the same fashion James' did whenever Lily entered the room.  Things will work out between the two of you."  He smiled reassuringly at her.  "Marauders' pledge," he added solemnly holding up two fingers.

            Cecilia watched as Remus and Ginny conversed quietly.  She felt a sharp pang of envy take hold.  Feeling wretchedly out of place, she pushed back her chair to take her leave.  Smiling apologetically, she moved towards the door.  

            "I really must be returning to the institution.  Miss Lancaster will wonder where I am."

            Remus came to his feet smoothly.  "Cecilia, please, you are welcome to our home anytime."  He desperately wished she didn't have to leave as his earlier worry came back in full force.  "I don't want you to get into trouble, but whenever you wish, please come visit.  Elizabeth, Sirius and I will always be here."

            Cecilia smiled at his kind words.  As she pulled on her robes, she mentally chided herself for being such a coward.  Swallowing hard, she closed her fastener and turned to say goodbye.  She shook hands all around and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on Elizabeth's cheek.

            "Thank you again," she said.  Turning, she opened the front door and closed it behind her quickly.  

            Harry handed Ginny her robes and began to put his on own.  Tying his scarf around his neck, he blew a raspberry at Elizabeth.  "We have to go, too.  Ginny's got to teach in the morning, and I am to report to a contingency of Aurors meeting in Croatia at o-five hundred," he said with a laugh.  

            Remus and Sirius hugged Harry and Ginny goodbye.  Sirius picked up Elizabeth's little hand and showed her how to wave.  Giggling, Ginny wriggled noses with her, and Harry tousled her hair gently.

            "There—_now we look like brother and sister," he joked.  Stepping outdoors, they quickly disapparated._

            In the quiet of the house, Remus leaned up to kiss Sirius' soft lips gently.  "I'm glad you don't have to go anywhere tonight, Padfoot."

            Sirius chuckled.  "Shall we just put her to sleep?"

            Tugging on the front of Sirius' jumper, Remus whispered softly into his lover's warm mouth.  'I'd rather you put _me to sleep…" _

            Elizabeth squirmed impatiently.  "Da da!" she protested in righteous indignation.

Still kissing, the two men froze and stared at each other.  _Da da?             _

            Elizabeth's little violet eyes frowned up at the two men.  She pushed with her little fists against the solid wall of chest on either side of her.  "Da da." She said pointedly.  

            Yelling in delight, the two men crushed her to their chests, simple and pure love overwhelming them.  Showering her with kisses, they forgot all other pleasantries in the heady, wonderful moment of being called _Daddy by their daughter.  At that moment, life could never be sweeter, for Moony and Padfoot had finally found their family._


	7. The Dragon Keeper's Letter

A/N:  Okay… as promised we've finally reached the part where we can say—_enter drama—and don't we all hate the prejudice pigs who want to destroy our favorite werewolf and the sexiest ex-convict ever known?  Sigh… I know… It is chapter 7 already (and I __so appreciate everyone who's hung around so far!), but I felt that it would be more believable if Remus and Sirius had some time to become adjusted to being daddies!  Things don't happen over night!  This chapter was quite a challenge to write as I certainly didn't want to break up the boys' happy little home!  And just when Sirius was getting the hang of changing nappies…   But… it wouldn't be drama without some heavy bits of anxiety and handsome men!  Hee hee… Stay tuned for more… I have so many things planned for the boys and would love to know what you think… leave a review or email me at bailing@ignitionmusic.com  Thanks mucho!!  _

Chapter 7

            Charlie Weasley wiped his sweaty brow impatiently with his forearm.  He couldn't believe how warm it was in the dungeon of the abandoned castle.  Balancing on his knees, he slowly pushed the heavy iron cauldron closer to the glowing coals. 

            Twenty long minutes passed.  He had stripped down to a ratty white tee-shirt, sleeves cut out, and a pair of jean shorts.  His short muscular frame was covered with a fine sheen of sweat as he delicately removed the dragon egg with a long pair of tongs.  He placed the egg gently in the hatching chamber.  Sighing with relief, he quickly extinguished the fire.  

            Watching the birthing process was a bittersweet moment.  This particular egg's mother, a Welsh Green, was killed in what should have been a routine restraining effort.  However, thanks to the ineptness of a certain partner, Charlie could recall every detail of the resulting tragedy.

"Whitney!" Charlie screamed hoarsely, dodging the fiery blast radiating from sixty feet above.  Falling to the hard dirt, he rolled quickly away from the crackling grass and heaved himself up on his forearms.  In the smoky haze, his eyes frantically searched out his partner.  Clutching his wand shakily, he mentally kicked himself for missing his target.  Charlie prepared himself for the next attack, narrowing his eyes at the smooth green scales between the dragon's steely eyes.  "One, two—move you idiots," he bellowed, angry and frustrated with the inept motions of the less experienced dragon keepers.  Just as he was about to yell the appropriate Cunjunctivitus Curse, he noticed Howard Whitney standing directly below the Green Welsh's chest.  Whitney was frozen in place, his mouth moving wordlessly.  "Whitney!"  Frantically Charlie propelled himself to his feet and charged forward.  Through the rising smoke, Whitney seemed to move in slow motion as he hit the dragon with a misdirected spell, the sheer force knocking the life out of the beautiful creature. Her feeble cry produced one last fiery wave before she crashed to the ground.  Charlie pushed Whitney out of the way and noticed vaguely that his partner's arm was on fire.  Whitney's tortured screams filled the eerie stillness of the night as his arm burst into nasty red welts.  Pandemonium ensued as the keepers struggled to revive the mother.  Charlie separated himself, his eyes roving the ground in search of her eggs.  He knew that she had only been acting out of nesting instincts and was instinctively enraged at the humans invading her safety zone.  Suddenly furious with the whole lot of dragon keepers, wizards who were trained to know better, he argued, he ran across the field frantically searching for her nest.  A cry from their leader, Augustine, drew his attention back to the dragon's still form.  Walking slowly back to the circle, Charlie's eyes burned with unshed tears as he stared at the perfect symmetry of her smooth emerald green scales.  Augustine stood before him, holding a smooth ivory object speckled with grayish green flecks in his soot covered hands.  The Welsh Green's only surviving egg.  Charlie walked up to his stunned leader, and out of the corner of his eye took in the destroyed nest, the rest of the eggs smashed.  Swallowing hard, he placed the egg gently in his waist pack before turning and disapparating.

            A wry smile broke across Charlie's freckled face as he remembered his mum's astonished look as he placed the egg on the kitchen table.  She had been rendered speechless.  The silence lasted only a split second, however, before she ordered the egg, and Charlie by association, out of her house.  

            Howard ducked his tall frame under the archway and peered into the darkness of the room.  "Weasley?" he called, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. 

            Charlie shuffled to the side, and the warming lights under the hatching chamber glowed red in the dark of the dungeon.  "C'mon over here, Whitney," he called shortly.  "She's about to hatch."  His bulky frame made room for Howard's lanky body.  Howard gently touched the egg's crack.  

            Nodding in agreement, Howard absently scratched his left arm.  

Charlie looked down and frowned.  "How is your arm faring?"

            Howard shrugged.  He pulled his sleeve back over the raw skin and continued to stare at the egg.  His long white-blonde hair was pulled back with a strip of leather and his dark grey robes fell in casual waves around his well-defined body.  He was the proverbial _catch of all the keepers.  Charlie had been fervently against the match, complaining to Augustine that the rash young man was more concerned with the notoriety of the profession than with the science of dragons.  He had scrutinized Howard's every movement during training.  And yet, even though he had passed his training in triumph and thrown his worn fire-protection gloves at Charlie's feet, Charlie still maintained his reservations regarding Howard's skills.  __And I was right, he reassured himself.  __Howard was too inexperienced to have been given a position on this particular assignment.  Augustine placed too much faith in this idiot and look at where Whitney's rash act of foolishness has taken us._

            Charlie appraised the other man silently.  The man's gray eyes were shadowed, and his face was covered with faint stubble.  Starting, Charlie consulted his wristwatch and swore under his breath.

            "Whitney," he said tightly, "Look here, I have an appointment and I'm already half an hour late.  Do you think—" Charlie paused briefly, his brown eyes penetrating the wary eyes raised to him.  "I need you to take over the hatching.  I've set everything up—just make absolute certain to keep her warm.  The Welsh Green are easily susceptible to cold.  Augustine knows this is happening and wants to be informed the moment she hatches.  Think you can manage this?"

            Howard stared in amazement.  He could hardly believe his luck.  To be left in charge of the hatching of one of the only surviving Welsh Green dragons!  Nodding, he swallowed once before beginning haltingly, "Of course, Weasley.  Where should I take her once she's hatched—"

            "Augustine will handle that, Whitney," Charlie interrupted impatiently.  "Look, I've got to go.  Just don't screw _anything up."  With his warning hanging in the air, Charlie apparated to his appointment.       _

**********

            Cecilia lay in her narrow bed uncomfortably.  On the far side of the room Genevieve snored softly.  Shifting, she plumped her pillow in frustration, finally lying back down, resigned to her cheap bedding.  _I should be accustomed to this, she thought bitterly. __I've only slept in the same bed for years.  Flipping to her stomach, she buried her face in her arms.  __I should have told Mr. Lupin what was wrong when he asked.  Her regret pounded through her head relentlessly.  __It's my responsibility to tell him…How I could be so selfish…_

            Sighing, she sat up and stared at the moonlit path flowing across the worn pine floor.  Cecilia loved the pull of the moon, and during the evenings Genevieve had night duty, she would frolic like a wood sprite in the privacy of her chamber.  

            Pushing the blankets aside quietly, she padded softly to the window and pressed her nose against the glass.  Breathing in deeply, she tried desperately to inhale the moonlight.  _Oh to be free… She whispered a little prayer inside her heart, begging for release from her prison.  She released her hair from its customary bun and allowed it to ripple down her back in waves of riotous curls.  Deciding to ignore Genevieve's presence, she began to twirl across the floor.  Her heart sang, and for a moment she forgot her surroundings as the pull of the full moon drew her close.              _

**********

            In the cool shadows of the Lupin-Black cellar, Remus curled up in his wolf form and rested his soft muzzle on his paws, his bright golden eyes boring holes through the wooden shutters covering the window.  Faint streaks of moonlight seeped through the cracks enticing the wolf to come out and play.  His home for the night, however, was in the cellar, away from his sleeping daughter who slumbered peacefully upstairs.  His mind raced as it was wont to do during his lupine state, and he whined deep in his throat.  Sniffing the air frantically he tried to detect the scent of his pack mate and released a tiny howl at his futility.

            A low bark came from behind the locked door.  Racing to his feet, the wolf leapt to the door with newfound energy and circled madly, his sharp claws digging into the soil.  Growling, he grew frenzied in his mad urge to reach his mate.  Communication passed from the other animal in the form of short punctuated barks causing the wolf to cease its growling.  Whining, the subdued wolf pressed his muzzle against the crack of the door and sniffed in delight as the familiar dog's smell reached his nostrils.  The gentle panting from the other side warmed his frantic mind and allowed for a partial release of anxiety.  The wolf knew there was a reason the dog was not in the room with him, but his present mental state did not afford the knowledge of understanding.  Time passed slowly as dog and wolf lay with their muzzles pressed to the ground.  Soon the pull of fatigue overcame them and they slept.

**********

            Yawing broadly, Padfoot stretched his black doggie legs in contentment, his long pink tongue lolling from his mouth.  Blue eyes caught the faint light spilling down the cellar stairs, and he quickly transformed.  

            Moaning slightly, Sirius leaned backwards and slowly cracked his back, knowing full well that if Remus were present he would receive a scolding.  Smiling mischievously, he leaned closer to the door and proceeded to crack his knuckles.

            "I can hear that, Padfoot," Remus' tired muffled voice floated under the door. 

            Muttering the counter-locking spell, Sirius pulled the heavy door open and walked anxiously to the corner of the room.  Remus lay prone on a pile of old mismatched bedding.  His gentle eyes were covered with swollen lids.  His pale milky-white chest and legs were exposed to the cool morning air, a corner of a tattered blanket pulled across his midsection in a half-hearted attempt at modesty.

            Sirius pulled the shivering man up into his strong arms and bundled him in an old quilt.  Planting a soft kiss on the fevered brow, he lifted him effortlessly and cradled the beautiful head against his shoulder.  "You need to get more sun," he teased gently, his large hand smoothing the mussed hair soothingly.  "Just rest…"

            Remus smiled wearily against his lover and squeezed Sirius' arm affectionately.  "Thank you, love…" he managed before passing out.

            Climbing the stairs carefully, Sirius marveled at how frail his partner seemed.  His normally strong figure was deceptively light in appearance yet always managed to convey a strong presence of both mind and body.  After the transformations, it was as if every ounce of strength was drained away—devoured by the ravenous wolf.  

            Laying Remus gently on the bed, he tucked him in tightly and cast a quick warming spell in the room.  Sirius sat softly on the edge and absently ran his hand back and forth over his lover's chest.  Biting his lower lip, Sirius' eyes scanned the sleeping man's features.  Milky-white translucent skin covered taut facial muscles and a slow pulse drummed in his left temple.  After years of dealing with the complications of Moony's monthly transformations, he had developed a little system that allowed him to absorb some of the pain while in dog form.  When their paws connected an electric current surged between the two canines and emotions and physical sensations mingled so that each bore the pain from the resulting transformation.  

Sighing, he caressed the warm forehead.  He knew that it wasn't possible to be locked in the room with Remus during the transformation.  Elizabeth couldn't be left alone all night, and the wolf wouldn't understand the urgency of the situation should he have to transform back into his human state.  Frustrated, he squeezed Remus' hand.  This month's transformation without Padfoot's companionship had wrecked havoc on Remus' body.  _Someone needs to stay with Elizabeth during the full moon, he thought anxiously.  __Remus can't be alone… and when I am away he'll need help with her…        _

His own eyes heavy with fatigue, he glanced quickly at Elizabeth.  Her eyes were buttoned in sleep.  Satisfied that she was okay, Sirius removed his clothing and climbed into bed, pulling Remus close.  Remus shivered slightly in his sleep at the contact.  Sirius paused as he adjusted the blankets and smacked his forehead at his own stupidity.  He had forgotten that his feet were ice cold.  Muttering a quick warming charm, he snuggled back in bed and promptly fell asleep, his arms encircling his lover tenderly.

            Many hours later, Remus awoke with a start, his eyes blinking in confusion.  A persistent tapping came from the direction of the window.  He looked around the room for Sirius and realized he must have gone downstairs with Elizabeth.  Sighing tiredly, he worked the blankets off his body and carefully put his feet to the floor, wincing as his abused muscles screamed in protest.  He hobbled across the floor and pulled on his dressing gown.  His temples pounded and his raw throat felt on fire.  Groaning at his own weakness, he carefully raised the glass pane.  

            "Come here," he croaked, allowing the little owl to land on his outstretched arm.  Untying the missive, he sent him off downstairs for nourishment.  Sinking into the rocking chair, he drew the blanket up over his shoulders before breaking the seal. 

October 15th

To: Mr. Remus Lupin and Mr. Sirius Black

From: Mr. Charlie Weasley

Remus and Sirius,

I just returned from a meeting with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.  I was invited to sit on a special panel regarding a new particularly vicious cross-breed of Welsh Green and Hungarian Horntail—am not quite sure why they chose _me and not Augustine—but that's not important right now.   _

Listen, there was a woman there, someone called Margaret Lancaster from the Infant Wizard Protection Agency, who huddled in the back corner with Macnair for a long time.  I happened to pass them on my way out and overheard them talking about a Mr. Remus Lupin.  You are the only Remus Lupin I know, so I'll admit to leaning down and pretending to tie my shoe—was actually wearing my leather boots with no laces but I don't think they noticed anything.  Anyway, she's a regular bitch—very hostile.  I kept hearing the words "vicious out of control werewolf snapped at me" and "I feared for my life".  I must have "retied" my bloody shoe half a dozen times at this point.  Then this nasty biddy said, "It's getting out of control—the Minister is overstepping his bounds—vicious non-humans adopting my children—going to make an example of this werewolf who dares to presume—wait for my signal."  And then Macnair said something about the executions of wild, uncontrolled beasts.  It's not verbatim, but it's the best I can do.  Sorry.  

Remus, you need to be aware of what is going on.  I just happened to be at the right place to over hear this, and I want to assure you that I will keep my eyes and ears open.  I'll do anything to help—you know that.  

Listen, Remus, Sirius, I may have misheard some of these things but I'm still very concerned.  I want to inform Dad, Percy, and Hermione about this—see if they have heard anything in the Ministry grapevine.  I'm staying at the Burrow while on assignment here in England.  Contact me there as soon as possible.

Charlie             

            Remus froze in his chair, the letter clutched tightly in his shaking fist.  "Sirius," he croaked.  Mustering all his strength, he lurched painfully to his feet and yelled hoarsely, "Sirius, I need you now!"  Stars formed in front of his eyes.

            Through the hazy pain, Remus heard footsteps pounding up the stairs.  Collapsing back into the chair, the blood drained completely from his face.  Remarkably his mind remained sharp as the absolute fury of the wolf merged with that of the man.   

            "Moony!  What is it?  Are you okay?"  Sirius broke into the room.  Little Elizabeth bounced in his tight grip, her hands holding fistfuls of shirt.  She stared at Remus and cried plaintively, "Da da!"  

Sirius stroked her soft hair and whispered gently, "Shush, Lizzie."  He kissed her gently.  "Daddy Remus isn't feeling well.  Stay here with me."  

Elizabeth pointed at Remus and struggled to get down.  

Remus unfroze and shook his head dazedly.  "It's okay, Siri," he said gruffly holding out his hands.  "Let me hold her."  

Frowning, Sirius shook his head as Elizabeth continued to squirm frantically.  Finally, he placed her in Remus' lap.  He watched worriedly until he saw her cuddle closely to Remus' slender frame, her tiny hands touching the place on his chest where his heart lay.  Taking a seat on the floor next to his mate and daughter, he grabbed Remus' shaking hand, smiling faintly as Elizabeth slapped the offending hand, showing her growing possessiveness over Remus.  In his heart, he was faintly relieved that she also conducted the same ritual whenever Remus tried to draw _his attention.  _

"What's happened, Moony?"

Remus shifted his arms and dislodged the letter that had fallen under Elizabeth's bottom.  "Read this," he said shakily.

"Why is Charlie Weasley writing us?" Sirius looked up at Remus in confusion.  At Remus' aggrieved look, he dropped his eyes back to the letter and began to read.  

**********

            "Listen to me, Percy!  We've got to go directly to the Committee—maybe Macnair knows something we don't!" Charlie stumbled into the table and splashed pumpkin juice all over the tablecloth.  Ignoring the mess, his strong arms reached out to grab his younger brother's robes.  He was determined to shake the condescending look off Percy's face.  

            Percy frowned angrily at Charlie.  _He never thinks logically!  "It's never a step by step process with you is it, Charlie?  Look—the Committee isn't some __dragon that you can charm into doing you biding.  You've got to look at this rationally—or is rational thought something you've lost over your years dealing with wild beasts?" he sneered.     _

            Charlie lunged forward.  _I'll shake some sense into the little bastard, he thought wildly.  Gripping Percy tightly, he glared furiously at the other wizard.  Smaller in stature, he still managed to knock the wind out of Percy quite effectively._

            "Charlie!"

            Molly entered the room and dropped her market bags on the floor.  "Unhand him!  Charlie!"  She rushed forward and pulled open her son's strong grip.  Gasping for breath, Percy leaned over the back of one of the chairs, his gray face slowly returning to its normal color.  Molly held her older son's arms tightly at his side and silenced him with a look.

            "Why are you boys here?" The firm tone of her voice booked no nonsense.

            "Charlie called me from the fire and told me it was urgent that I come to home—something about Macnair, Remus and Sirius.  Interrupted a _very important international call—and I don't __know, Mum!" Percy rasped indignantly as she frowned at him.  Folding his arms belligerently across his chest, he continued angrily, "He's gone mad, Mum!  Bloody attacking me…"_

            Charlie fumed at his younger brother.  He _hated Percy's pompous air—the way he tried to twist everything to benefit his own good.  __Definitely Ministry material, he groused.  Swallowing, he worked to control his full-blown Weasley temper._

            "I had an appointment last night with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures and I overheard Macnair and a woman named Margaret from the Infant Wizard Protection Agency talking about Remus.  Look, it's was _not a favorable conversation, Percy!  They are clearly up to something—something connected to Remus' lycanthropy.  Stop turning this into some bloody battle about a grudge I may or may not have against the Ministry!"  Charlie began to pace.  _

            "I owled Remus and Sirius this morning and told them I would be here," he continued in a calmer voice.  Percy rubbed his neck with a sour expression.  Molly's eyes mirrored the concern in Charlie's.  She tapped the kettle to begin tea.  

            "Shouldn't you call Hermione also?" she asked over her shoulder, her gaze falling upon the Weasley family clock, Arthur's arrow now pointing to "In Transit."

            Charlie nodded, "Yeah, I left a message with her assistant.  Apparently she off on some assignment.  Her assistant said she'd have Hermione contact us as soon as possible."  He executed a quick cleaning spell at the mess.

            "Thank you, dear," Molly said, coming behind Charlie and ruffling his short red hair.  Standing over Percy, she gently lowered his hands and rubbed a soothing balm on his tender neck.  Bright red handprints covered the mottled flesh.  Percy continued to shoot daggers at his older brother, but his eyes softened as he thanked his mum.  

            With a _pop, Arthur apparated into the kitchen and glanced quickly around the room.  "Where are Remus and Sirius?" he asked in confusion._

            Charlie shook his head.  "Should we place a fire-call?"  

            Just as Charlie made his suggestion, Sirius' head appeared in the fireplace.  A tic worked angrily in his jaw.  

            "Charlie?"

            Charlie knelt before Sirius' head.  "Hello Sirius," he answered gravely.  "How's Remus?"

            "As fine as can be expected in this bloody situation!" Sirius snapped.  Charlie nodded.  "Listen, Charlie, we need to talk with you, but Remus is too weak to leave the house."  Lowering his voice, he continued quickly, "He had a bad transformation last night and has a high fever.  He wouldn't want you to know this though, so..." 

            Arthur's face came into view.  Sirius' smile was grim as he acknowledged the older man.  "Arthur," he said.  

            "Sirius, we can be at your house momentarily if that's all right.  Molly's here—she'll be happy to tend to Elizabeth."  Arthur beckoned Percy forward.  "Charlie contacted Hermione's assistant and she's trying to locate her.  Is there anyone else you want involved right now?  Harry?"

            Sirius shook his head.  "Harry's still in Croatia.  The Venezuela trip was postponed for another month.  There's still a heck of a mess over on the Continent."

            "Still… Percy, can you have your department send word to the Auror division?  It needs to be conducted officially, and I would feel more comfortable if they didn't know Sirius was involved."

"Of course, Dad," Percy answered quickly feeling a pang of guilt at the frantic worry on Sirius' face.  He apparated to the Ministry.  

            Arthur stared firmly at Sirius.  "We'll be right over.  Just give us a minute."  Sirius disappeared from the flames.  Standing, Arthur grimly faced his wife and son.  Rubbing his wrinkled face tiredly, his eyes held none of their usual sparkle.  The kitchen stood cold and still, tiny cracks whistling faintly as the strong October wind whirled around the rickety house.  

            Molly quickly packed a basket of nourishing staples, intent on nursing poor Remus back to health.  She added a bottle of Pepper-Up potion and a sachet of fever-reducing herbs.  

            Arthur and Charlie waited patiently for her to finish.  The three exchanged brief looks before tossing floo powder into the flames, and within seconds the Burrow stood empty.

**********

            Remus coughed harshly, his thin shoulders shaking with effort.  "Smashing," he groaned weakly from the armchair Harry had criticized on his last visit.  "I've caught—_cough—a bloody cold…"  He shivered with chill and closed his bloodshot eyes for a brief moment.  _

            Sirius entered the room with a fresh cup of chamomile tea.  "I can't believe we forgot to buy a new bottle of Pepper-Up."

            Remus opened one sleepy eye and appraised his mate dryly.  "I told you, Paddy, I'm not taking any of that foul stuff.  I already have enough gray coming out from my head—I certainly don't need any help."

            "Aw, Moony," Sirius teased, tucking the blankets closer over Remus' shoulders.  "You are so cute with the little gray tendrils of smoke curling about your ears!"  Placing the tea in Remus' hand, he prodded him gently.  "Drink.  The Weasleys are coming over any minute."

            Remus sipped experimentally.  _Ah… Sirius had finally learned how to brew a proper cup of tea.  "Come here, my little dog star…" he whispered, his eyes closing once again.  Sensing his presence, Remus opened his eyes and barked out a shout of laughter.  Sirius stood next to the chair complete with a bubble-head charm._

            "Yes, Moony?" he asked innocently, his voice sounding as if he were yelling from the bottom of a cave.  

            Remus stared at the comical figure in front of him trying desperately to make him laugh.  He raised his hand slowly, and with deliberate precision, pressed his entire palm on the glass.  His giggles turning into full chuckles as Sirius sputtered indignantly. 

            "Moony, you've streaked me!"

            Laughing, Remus wagged his eyebrows wickedly.  "I believe we'll have to save the _streaking for later, Padfoot."_

            Their smiles quickly disappeared as a commotion from the fireplace drew their attention.  Arthur crawled out of the fireplace followed closely by Charlie and Molly.  They all stopped abruptly, bumping into each other.  Smiling in comprehension, Remus touched his head once and Sirius blushed, tapping his bubble-head with his wand.      

            "Arthur, Molly, Charlie.  It's good to see you."  Remus extended his hand genially.  Sirius marveled at the way Remus maintained his control in the presence of others.  Only he was privy to the depths of emotion that shook the other man to the core of this being—and even then, an outburst was but an occasional happening.  _Touché, he thought wryly, remembering cautionary words spoken just minutes ago—a warning that he, Sirius, was acting like a worrywart.    _

            Molly took Remus' flushed face between her cool hands.  Like a mother hen, she gently kissed his brow and frowned at the heat radiating from him.  Clucking her tongue, she bustled towards the kitchen calling over her shoulder, "Where is that delicious baby of yours?"

            "She's having a nap," Sirius answered.

Charlie propped his arm on the mantle, his brow furrowed as he wondered where to begin.  "Percy's heard of Margaret Lancaster," he began slowly.  "He says she's known for her questionable alliances.  There were rumors circulating about which side her loyalties lay during the war.  Supposedly the Minister of Magic was prepared to remove her from the post of Deputy Caseworker at the IWPA but with the shortage of trained nurses after the war, Margaret's been allowed to stay on."

            Arthur nodded in agreement.  "Margaret is notorious within the Ministry for stirring up trouble."

            Remus tried to make sense of the whole matter.  "I'm afraid I don't understand, Charlie.  Why is Margaret attacking _me?  My lycanthropy was cleared through the Ministry before she was even involved."_

            "Remus—" Charlie started.

            "Remus!  Sirius!"  

Hermione had arrived.  

She rushed forward in a swirl of crimson robes, pushing her hood down impatiently.  Her brown hair managed to stand up everywhere, individual strands bonding to the electricity in the air.  Bending down, she gently kissed Remus' cheek and then moved quickly to kiss Sirius, Arthur and Charlie.

            "I am so sorry I'm late.  Morgan only just tracked me down—the Division sent a team down to Portsmouth where we have been setting up experimental apparating ports—and anyway, Morgan didn't have time to fill me in on the situation.  What's happening?"  She looked quickly from Remus and Sirius and back to Charlie, her fast movements making Remus slightly nauseous.  

"Hermione, what do you know about a woman named Margaret Lancaster?" Charlie asked.

            Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Hermione answered shortly.  "The Lancaster woman?  She's horrid, that's what she is."  Her voice rose angrily.  "What does she have to do with this?"

            Sirius noted ruefully that once again his hands were tucked inside his cuffs.  "Charlie overheard Margaret speaking with Macnair after a Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures panel.  We figure she harbors ill feelings towards Remus—hell, who am I kidding?" he laughed bitterly.  "Margaret _hates Remus because of his lycanthropy and it looks as if she's dragging Macnair into the mess—concocting these stories about Remus threatening her.  Now Charlie's overheard Macnair talking about the execution of wild, uncontrollable beasts.  If you ask my opinion it seems as if the two have been in cohorts for awhile now."_

            Hermione paled.  She tried to recall just what it was about the Lancaster woman that nagged at her memory.  _Aha!  She glanced worriedly at Remus, worrying her lower lip. _

            Remus noticed Hermione's hesitancy, and his lips thinned.  "Out with it, Hermione," he said shortly.  "I'm not fragile.  If you know something about Margaret you need to tell us—_all of us."_

            Hermione swallowed nervously.  She felt as if she was standing in his classroom back at Hogwarts and he was Professor Lupin again, not Remus.  She remembered vividly that one dreadful day back in their third year when Professor Lupin stood looking at the three of them with such disappointment in his golden eyes.  _I hate disappointing him…and here I am doing it again.  She shifted uncomfortably under his piercing stare. _

            "Margaret Lancaster is the woman who was the key witness at the execution trial of the condemned werewolf from Bristol.  Do you remember this case, Arthur?" She looked over at her father-in-law who was slowly turning gray.  "This particular werewolf was the guardian for his deceased sister's child—a little boy around the age of six at the time, I believe.  Lancaster petitioned against his rights to be a parent—and succeeded.  She painted a horrid picture of this man—completely fabricated—and managed to destroy all of his credibility," Hermione's voice shook with anger.  "The trial lasted for months.  Lancaster worked closely with Macnair to bring forward people who would be willing to lie on the stand about the nature of his character, and soon he became known as the Raving Werewolf of Bristol.  Eventually the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures handed down the verdict and… well, he was executed.  This all happened about ten years ago, and since then _no werewolf has been legally sanctioned to have parenting rights—until __you, Remus."  She paused, her voice trembling.  "I—I'm __so sorry, Remus…" _

            Remus was certain he was going to be sick.  Hot bile forced its way up his throat.  Lurching over the side of his chair he retched, his back heaving as he forced out the contents of his stomach to the floor.                  

            Sirius ran quickly to his mate, his own stomach revolting against Hermione's story.  He stroked Remus' back and held back locks of hair that had fallen forward.  "Shh… Remus, just breath… that's it… take another breath, love…"  His clammy hand brushed nervously against the sweat-drenched forehead.

            Slowly Remus' dry heaves ceased.  His mouth burned unpleasantly, and his eyes stung.  Sirius leaned him back against the chair, pulling a tissue from the box on the little stand.  He gently mopped Remus' brow and the corners of his mouth as Molly quickly cleaned away the mess.  Charlie held out a glass of water which Remus gulped eagerly, desperate to wash away the unpleasant taste.

            "I'm so sorry…" Remus said weakly, humiliation coursing through his body.

            Sirius placed a finger over his clammy lips and shook his head firmly.  "_Never apologize.  I wanted to retch myself."  He smoothed his hand over the flushed cheeks and wished for the ability to take away his lover's pain.  "We can't condone what happened ten years ago.  We're united together in this, Remus, and there is no way in hell that Lancaster and Macnair are going to succeed this time.  Besides," he continued with more confidence than he truly felt, "We don't even know if the situations are the same—or what the situation __is exactly."_

            The rest of the group nodded quickly, and Remus smiled weakly at their attempt to ease him.  _Liars, he thought tiredly.  __Good liars, but still…  Coughing harshly, he watched as Molly reached into her basket and removed her reliable bottle of Pepper-Up.        _

            Grimacing, Remus clamped his lips tightly like a small child.

            Frowning sternly at him, Molly pressed the spoon to his lips and ordered him to open up.  When he wouldn't oblige, she deftly pinched his nose with the experienced air of a mother of many and popped in the spoon when he gasped for air.  Smiling sagely, she placed the bottle on the table.  

"Sirius, dear," she called over to the taller man whose shoulders shook at the aggrieved expression on Remus' face as his ears began to steam.  "I noticed you don't have any Pepper-Up in your pantry.  I'll just leave my bottle with you.  I have plenty in reserves at home."   

Charlie nodded with a grimace.  "It's true, mate.  Better take it than risk arguing with Mum."    

            "Why thank you, Molly," Sirius said, his lips cracking slightly at the disgruntled look Remus threw him.  "You're too kind."  He placed a warm, strong arm firmly around Remus' shoulders and hugged him tightly.  He gazed down into Remus' eyes and his heart sunk at the dazed hurt expression.  He bent and kissed him swiftly.  "I love you terribly, Moony."  His voice shook slightly as he proclaimed this in soft undertones so the others wouldn't hear.  "We'll get through this—just promise me you won't close yourself off.  I can be strong for the both of us, I'll do all the work, but—but my heart truly can't stand it when you pull away from me.  Promise me, Moony…" 

            Breaking through his own pain, Remus' heart ached at the vulnerability he heard in his lover's voice.  He reached up and gripped the hand lying across his shoulder fiercely.  "You have my promise, Padfoot." 


	8. The Business Associate

A/N: *hugs* to everyone who has reviewed this—you're awesome.  Really—I am so completely inspired by all the nice things you have to say.  I love to write and am completely wrapped up in this little world I have created, so it's wonderful that you are enjoying it as well.  Chapter 9 coming soon!    

Chapter 8

            Dark cherry paneling lined the walls of the antechamber and freshly waxed floorboards shone in the twilight rays.  Twelve velvet cushioned chairs surrounded a long mahogany table.  Alone in the room and seated at the head of the table was a stooped figure, his occasional scratching of quill against parchment the only sound breaking the heavy stillness of the room.  Dusty tomes piled ten high covered the table, and a large number of scrolls in various states of disarray lay scatted about.  Slowly the black antique hands of the grandfather clock turned, clicking off precious minutes and marking the pace at which the young man worked.

            Yawning loudly, Harry raised his arms back over his head and gave into a long blissful stretch.  Shaking his head, he settled back in his chair and picked up his quill.  He was mentally exhausted by the heavy workload and wished desperately that he could owl his friends.  Their letters would at least help to break the monotony of the current working conditions.  Harry turned his head slightly and gazed out the window, his eyelids drooping slightly.  

            The Ministry's Auror Division had established headquarters in the capital of Croatia, Zagreb.  For the last two weeks, Harry dedicated his days to drawing up plans for dispatching teams to isolated communities suspected of concealing Voldemort's remaining Eastern European cells.  One city, Rijeka, located on the coast of the Adriatic Sea, was proving to be cause for particular concern.  According to the files the Croatian Ministry of Magic were able to provide, Rijeka was well know for its high werewolf population.  Isolation wards had been set up around the city during the peak of the war—an ineffective attempt to curb the sudden onset of werewolf spawning cast into motion by empty promises made by Voldemort's supporters.  As such, Rijeka had a higher per capita of werewolves than any other city in Europe and many were in a murderous retaliatory mood due to unfulfilled pledges of lycanthropy advances.

            Harry sighed and ran an agitated hand through his hair, oblivious to the quill which left a rather large streak on his left cheek.  He was sorely tempted to break Ministry protocol and contact Remus for help.  The werewolves were quickly becoming out of control as more and more were joining the faction of dark side supporters.  The general mindset pulsating in the area was that if the Dark Lord had promised a cure for lycanthropy than it must exist _somewhere—and more importantly, __someone was hiding it.  The Croatian Ministry was quick to realize that the state of werewolf affairs was in shambles.  People were fleeing Rijeka afraid for their lives, and as raging fury knifed through their minds, the werewolves no longer exercised restraint during the full moon.  _

            Standing, Harry walked to the window and slowly pushed it open.  He felt the incredible weight of loneliness settle over his heart, and for a moment, werewolves ceased to matter as faces floated before him:  Ron chortling as he swept cleanly between trees on his own Firebolt, the product of his first paycheck as an adult working wizard; Hermione in her trademark crimson Ministry robes snapping orders at the underlings scurrying about to find the latest requested report—and the very same Hermione smiling secretly as she gave them top marks on their evaluations; Elizabeth obliviously drooling on his face, her eyes crinkling in pleasure; Remus and Sirius baiting each other over the kitchen table, fingers entwined as was discovered when he was leaning down to pick up his fallen napkin; and Ginny… Harry's face broke into the first genuinely happy smile the room had seen in over two weeks.  Ginny's chocolate brown eyes twinkled up at him, a ray of sunlight caught in her irises making them shine with even greater brilliance.  _And those lips, he smiled the grin of an irrepressible teenager.  _

            Such was the life of an Auror.  Attention to duty and a constant stream of adjustments were of the norm and not to be trifled with.  Rule Number One in the Auror manual clearly stated that no personal connections could be made while on assignment.  He turned away with bleak eyes from his memories and focused again on the matter at hand.  Harry knew this assignment was far from completed—in fact, the Chief Auror had just announced at the general meeting this morning that all team members should expect the assignment to last until the end of November.  Solitude was fast losing its appeal.  

            Groaning, he sat down again and picked up his quill, willing his fingers to write.  A sudden burst of wind from the open window rustled the sheets of parchment on the table, knocking several to the floor.  With a deep sigh, Harry bent down and picked up the fallen pieces.  The impatient hooting of an owl jerked him upright.

            "Hedwig?" his eyes widened with disbelief at the teetering bird.  "How did you _get here?"  Absolute amazement jolted him.  He knew the Division never disclosed their whereabouts as a precautionary measure, but somehow Hedwig had discovered their location. And yet…Harry's heart slammed painfully in his chest.  "Damn…" he whispered, and his hands instantly stilled.  Two weeks ago Thudmarket had received an owl post bearing the news of his daughter's death—the only excuse permissible by the Division.  He searched the recesses of his mind for anything resembling a prayer but could only recall words picked up from Muggle television and snippets from the long litanies Irish-Catholic Seamus would say nightly.  __How did that one go?  Hail Mary Mother of God…Mother of God… Pray Jesus… _

            "Harry Potter" was printed in very careful block letters across the front.  

            Harry's pulse pounded painfully in his temples, and his throat was unbearably dry as he tried to swallow.  He knew that the sensation of not knowing was worse than any news imaginable, and yet… shaking, he cracked the seal.  With trepidation he began to read the printed words, his expression quickly changing from one of fear to puzzled relief to livid fury.  The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room.  Tactfulness forsooth; he craved revenge—burned with the sickness of absolute hatred.  But first he wanted to wring Percy Weasley's neck for giving him the scare of his life.  And then he would stand next to his godfather and look bloody Lancaster and Macnair straight in the eye and say...  Harry quickly scratched a reply, and muttering a soft apology to Hedwig for not having any food, sent her out the window.  

            With newfound energy, Harry began to feverishly re-open the books he had diligently gone through in the hope that he might find something—_anything—promising that would help the man who had become like a father to him.  __Maybe these Croatian werewolves will prove to be useful after all…_

**********

            Remus rolled to his side and propped his head upon his arm.  His lips spread into an exasperated smile as he handed Elizabeth yet another plastic block that had recently met its demise from the long fall to the floor.  Color was slowly coming back to his face, but the hollows in his cheeks had yet to fill.  Transformations drained his energy for several days, and yet the pragmatic side of him was willing to admit that all the recent emotional strain was mostly to blame for the slow healing process.  Unrealistic goals of bounding straight up from bed had long since been discarded.    

            Sirius and Remus' bed had quickly become Elizabeth's favorite play place.  She loved the wide expanse of softness, perfect for preventing any serious pain during the willful baby's haphazard scooting expeditions.  At the present however, dressed in a pale yellow cotton dress with a small sleeping black dog on her chest, she focused all her attention on the structure in front of her.  Remus watched with the eyes of a proud father as she successfully placed yet another block in perfect position, not a single item teetering.  Warmth crept up his body as he resisted the overpowering urge to sweep her up in his strong arms and hug her—a gesture he knew she would _not appreciate at the moment.  A tantrum such as the likes of yesterdays was not something he wished to provoke.  Whoever said the wail of the banshee's was tantamount to death for a human had clearly not been privy to the powerful shrieks of a six-month old baby.  Remus was still recovering from his migraine.  Smiling regretfully, he kept his arms at his side and continued to monitor her progress with a big goofy grin on his handsome face._

            "Lizzie," he said with a laugh, "you are developing a very independent streak, did you know that?"  His daughter turned a deaf ear to her daddy and continued to align the blocks.  Chortling, he shook his head in apology as she glanced at him in annoyance, the bed jiggling with his chuckles.  _Elizabeth__ certainly likes to dictate when and how affection is displayed!  He thought in amusement.  __She's definitely more restrained than either Sirius or me._

            "That's the first time I've heard you laugh all day, Moony."  Sirius came to stand next to bed, his wool outer robes draped over an arm.  "Hello, sweetheart," he said, ruffling Elizabeth's soft hair.  "Ah… she's ignoring us again, eh Moony?"       

            "Of course she is, Padfoot.  It has been known to have happened before where people _can resist our charms."  _

            Sirius snorted as he pulled on his robes.  He pressed a quick kiss on his daughter's shiny hair and walked around the bed to the other side.  Remus rolled over slightly and faced his lover, a tender smile gracing his tired features.  

            "Going, love?" he asked, his hands reaching up to close the robe's fastener, a little gesture Sirius loved.    

            "I'll only be gone a few hours.  Charlie and Hermione are meeting me at the Leaky Cauldron to go over background information on Lancaster."  Sirius spat out the woman's name and grimaced as if the word itself was poison.

            Remus sighed with discontent and propped himself against the headboard.  "I _hate that I have to stay here when I should be the one strategizing and—"_

            "Moony, you know the MediWizard and Molly both ordered you to stay in bed until you're stronger.  I promise to record _everything that is discussed," Sirius interrupted quickly before Remus had time to launch into another tirade about the unfairness of the situation.  Waving a long white quill in front of Remus' dark face, he smiled beguiling, "Look here, Moony, see what Ginny gave me.  It's one of those magical recording devices cleverly disguised in this 'top-of-the-line quill constructed from the finest Brazilian-farmed phoenix and guaranteed to note both written and spoken word.'"  He finished in his best advertisement campaign voice, noting with boyish pleasure the reluctant smile spreading across Remus' face as he straightened himself from his exaggerated stage bow.    _

            Pulling a face, Remus crossed his eyes at his lover and spanked him playfully.  "I'm definitely feeling better, silly boy.  After all the Pepper-Up Molly's been feeding me there had better be some results!"

            Sirius let out a hoot.  "You're on bottle three, Remy.  I'm just counting on something _else steaming once you feel better."_

            Remus blushed.  Nodding towards Elizabeth, he lowered his voice slightly, "You know Paddy, she's going to start talking to us soon and I _don't want her first sentences to be laced with sexual innuendos."_

            Planting a quick hard kiss on Remus' upturned mouth, Sirius affectionately stroked the silver-streaked hair once before tuning and walking to the door.  "Moony, try to rest, will you?  We need you in top form, and I don't want to _ever see you like that again," he called over his shoulder, his voice heavy with meaning.  Remus nodded.  "All right then, good.  I love you."_

            Remus prodded Elizabeth.  "Lizzie, wave goodbye to Daddy."  

Elizabeth finally looked up, the word "goodbye" registering in her mind.  Remus picked up one of her small hands and shook it slightly.  Giggling, Elizabeth lifted her other hand and waved furiously.  

"We love you," Remus called out before the other man apparated.  Smiling, he felt his daughter tug impatiently at the hand he still held, and he quickly let go.  "All right, it's just you and me, Lizzie.  Let's try to keep it together, shall we?"

**********

            The Leaky Cauldron swarmed with the lunch crowd.  Curls of blue cigar smoke drifted slowly across the overheated room, and Charlie tugged at his collar with irritation.  Over the general din he leaned in towards Hermione and cupped his hand around her ear.  

            "Does Sirius know to meet us here?" he yelled.

            Hermione squealed.  "Charlie!  Gads that was loud."  

            Charlie grinned. "Sorry."  His eyes scanned the room for the tall wizard.  "There he is.  Sirius!  Oi!  Over here!"  Charlie and Hermione pushed their way through the throng of people, their eyes fixed on the curly black hair rising easily over the rest of the crowd.   

            Sirius turned at the sound of Charlie's voice.  His tall frame provided a clear aerial view of the room, and he smiled at the sight of the muscular red-haired wizard pulling along the only witch dressed in bright red among a sea of traditional black work robes.  "Hallo!  Charlie, Hermione.  C'mon over here.  I've got Tom to give us a private room in the back."

            "Thank god.  I think I am losing my hearing.  _Why do these wizards find the need to converse at the top of their lungs?" Hermione poked Charlie in the ribs as they followed Sirius past the bar and through a small archway.  "Ah… __silence." _

            Charlie's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the small room.  Coughing, he strolled over to a stack of mismatched chairs and pulled three of them up to the solitary table standing in the center of the room.  Hermione issued a quick dusting repelling charm before removing rolls of parchment and leather bound books from her satchel.  

            Standing in the doorway, his back to the room, Sirius conversed with Tom, the old bartender, in hushed voices.  Nodding once, he turned and walked to the table, a grim expression on his face.  "Bit dusty in here, eh Hermione?"  Dragging his chair closer to the table, he leaned forward and tapped the recording quill on before propping his elbows on the rough surface.  "Remus would have a fit if he were here," he declared looking about at what Tom called his private quarters for the more distinguished guest.  "You'd think he has some personal vendetta against dust."

            Hermione smiled.  "Remus is definitely the most _fastidious person I have ever met when it comes to cleaning."  Pulling open a fractured leather ledger, she frowned at the tiny flowing script.  "Sirius, Percy requested this from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures' Werewolf Registry archives and it's a documentation of every werewolf that has had parenting rights at one time or another.  Look," she pointed to a long column of dates on the crackling yellowed paper.  "The first recorded date was 1723 and for awhile it appears that werewolves were becoming parents quite regularly.  Hmm…In 1745 alone there were fifty-six documented cases of werewolf parents."  _

            Sirius' brow furrowed as he scanned the numbers carefully.  

            "So, we assumed that this anti-parenting sentiment concerning werewolves is a relatively new phenomenon?"  Charlie glanced quickly at the past half century noting the scarcity of names.

            Hermione shook her head.  "I don't it is wise to make any assumptions.  We don't know the circumstances surrounding these numbers—I mean it could be that these are simply the number of werewolves that parented children—it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with whether or not they were able to _raise their children."_

            "But the Department has strict guidelines about werewolves partaking in sexual relations, don't they?"  Sirius glanced up quickly at Charlie's question.

            "Yes and no."  Hermione reached for a yellowed roll of parchment, ignoring the unhappy look on Sirius' face.  Unrolling it gently, she began to read in a low voice.

            "_Notice from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures' Werewolf Registry, __January 1, 1900__, Charles Culpepper, Head of Division.  It has been ruled in Section 1521 Code A that the mating of werewolves for procreative measures is hereby forbidden.  While it has yet to be determined whether lycanthropy can be passed through the blood-line—"" Hermione looked up in disgust.  "Did you know this is the most current ruling to date?  Robert Culpepper certainly hasn't stepped up to bat, has he?"_

            "They _have proven that lycanthropy is transmitted only though the bite—right?" Sirius protested indignantly. Hermione shrugged.  "Well, besides, these fools are clearly overlooking the obvious.  __None of the children turned out as werewolves."  _

            "Well, it's obvious that Robert is trying not to step on his father's toes.  Percy's always complaining about dead weight at the Ministry, and this Culpepper fellow seems pretty useless if you ask me," Charlie snorted.  

            Hermione continued in an annoyed tone.  "_Werewolves are not prohibited from marrying—hence by the very nature of what constitutes marriage, I think it is safe to assume that this is a loophole that allows them to engage in sexual relations."_

            "So you're safe," Charlie nudged Sirius.  

            Glancing briefly at Sirius, Hermione laid down the parchment and stared at the remaining legal jargon.  "It's very difficult to decipher what exactly Section 1521 spells out.  I keep getting contradictions from reading this—werewolves can mate, they cannot, however, procreate, and yet the Registry up until the last 15 years or so hasn't placed any restrictive clauses on werewolf parents.  Why the sudden change?" she wondered.

            "And," Sirius pointed out, "the causes of deaths are stated here clearly and none of the werewolves were executed with the exception of the Bristol werewolf.  The rest of them either died of natural causes or are still living."  

            Hermione bit her lip in frustration.  "Does it say, Sirius, if these children are natural born or wards?"

            Sirius scanned the ledger.  "The majority are natural born.  The Bristol werewolf was the only guardian in the past one hundred years."

            "So the Ministry is clearly overlooking Section 1521 if these werewolves are parenting their own young.  How many werewolf parents are there to date?"

            A long pause ensued as Sirius counted the numbers carefully.  Frowning, he quickly double checked his work.  "As of this year, Remus is the only current name noted.  The rest of the children are grown up and are no longer considered to be under custodial care."

            Hermione scratched the back of her neck absently.  "I wonder if there is anything in this one that states when Margaret Lancaster began at the Infant Wizard Protection Agency." Handing Sirius a slim book, she resumed analyzing Section 1521.  "Why can't barristers ever write _anything in clear terms?  Why all this convoluted nonsense?" she complained, forgetting about her own very detailed and complex work that often prompted her co-workers to roll their eyes in frustration.  _

            Charlie paused in his task of unrolling another of Hermione's scrolls.  Augustine had owled him early this morning with the news that the dragon hatching had gone off without a hitch.  Relieved that Whitney was finally able to handle a task levelheadedly, Charlie felt a bit generous in his opinion of the young man.

"You know, I just remembered that my partner, Howard Whitney, studied to be a barrister before becoming a dragon keeper.  I can ask him if he recalls studying about the Bristol case.  He would have been at university during the trial."  

"_Whitney… why does that sound familiar?" Hermione mulled over the name for a moment._

            "Have you heard from Percy?" Sirius tapped the quill impatiently as a tiny spark fizzled from the tip of the feather.

            Charlie nodded.  "Percy said he managed to use the authority of the Department of International Magical Cooperation to get word to Harry.  _You know, Sirius, how prickly the Auror Division is about concealing its whereabouts.  I suppose that's the advantage of having your younger brother as head of the Department—even if he is a bit of a pompous ass."_

            Sirius smiled grimly.  _Percy is indeed that, but he's also proving to be invaluable for Remus' case.  He was willing to overlook Percy's less admirable qualities in exchange for Remus' happiness.   _

A throat cleared from the doorway.  Tom walked into the room carrying a tray of butterbeers and three corned beef sandwiches.  Clapping his hands delightedly, Sirius began devouring his sandwich with gusto.  "Moony never piles on enough meet," he said between hungry mouthfuls.  

            Charlie and Hermione each eyed their sandwiches askance.  Charlie had never been overly fond of this particular type as his mum had served them without fail at the start of each Hogwarts' journey.  Hermione, on the other hand, didn't eat too much meat in general.  Shrugging lightly under Sirius' curious stare, she picked up her sandwich and took a healthy bite.

            "Umm… delicious," she choked, trying desperately to chew the salty meat.  

            Grinning, Charlie decided to be a sport as well.  "What the hell," he muttered before taking a bite large enough to rival Sirius'.  

            Within minutes the men's plates stood empty.  Hermione struggled to finish her own meal.  Noting her slow progress, Sirius leaned forward and gently touched her hand.  "You don't have to finish that for my sake, Hermione."  His blue eyes twinkled merrily.  Sighing in relief, she placed the offending sandwich back on her plate.  Quick as a flash, Sirius picked it up and began to eat.  

            "Too late, Charlie-boy," he said contentedly, patting his full stomach.

            "Aw, damn it…" Charlie winked conspiringly at Hermione who shot him a mocking glance of sympathy.  

            With a sigh of discouragement, Hermione bent over her scroll and flattened it out impatiently, a corner tearing slightly in the process.  Sirius cocked an eyebrow in her direction, which she pointedly ignored.  "Let's keep searching.  It's getting late and we haven't gotten very far."  Looking up, she stared at the two men in front of her.  Despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't help feeling somewhat amused at the position she found herself in.

            Charlie grinned at her expression.  "What's funny?"

            "Oh nothing.  I was just thinking how much this reminds me of trying to study with Ron and Harry—and if I sort of squint my eyes I can imagine you two to be much older versions of them," she teased.  

            "Hey," Sirius protested.  "I take offense to the age comment!"  

Charlie laughed.  "Well, we were warned, Sirius.  Ron did caution us as to what we were getting ourselves into working with this one!"  

**********

The persistent ringing of the front door bell jarred Remus awake.  Sitting up awkwardly, Elizabeth nestled in the crook of his arm, he fumbled for his wand.

"Lumos," he whispered not caring to wake Elizabeth who was still sleeping soundly, a corner of the sheet in her mouth.  Soft light floated from the end of his wand and he looked out the window with bleary eyes.  The afternoon sunlight was quickly fading, hues of rose, lavender, and periwinkle filling the twilight sky.  Frowning, he consulted the clock on the mantle and was startled to realize it was nearly six in the evening.  

Crawling carefully out of bed, he gently scooted Elizabeth to the center and raised a quick barrier around the edges.  Satisfied that she would be safe should she awaken, he crept silently out of the room and down the dark front stairs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming…" he muttered, slightly annoyed at the audacity of the ringer.  He quickly lit the lamps in the foyer and opened the front door.  A frigid blast of air whirled into the hall, and he quickly stepped onto to the porch closing the door behind him.  

The cool evening air sent goose bumps to his skin.  Glancing swiftly to his left he noticed a hunched figure sitting on the old porch swing.  Never had he seen such a ghostly white face, and for a moment he wondered briefly is she were but a specter.  A chattering specter.  Ghosts were a very real presence, and while he had no reason to fear them, he certainly didn't appreciate them haunting his home.  Shaking his head, he said finally, "Cecilia."  

She clamped her jaw shut as the chattering of her teeth grew ridiculously loud.  The tall man standing before her dressed elegantly in soft gray trousers and a narrow long black high-collared jumper remained still, awaiting her move.  Swallowing audibly, she rose to her feet, her thin robes swaying in the wind.  Helplessly she waved a hand toward the door.  "I didn't think you were home."

Remus blinked.  "I was upstairs."  

"Mr. Lupin," she quavered, her eyes smarting as she blinked furiously.  The mums on the side of the walk were dying.  "Your flowers…"

Remus nodded.  Often his own lips refused to translate what was in his mind.  He wondered if perhaps the mums would have fared better on the southern side of the house.  "Yes, it's been a cold autumn," he agreed as he crossed with smooth strides to the swing.  Kneeling on the cold boards, he placed strong hands on her arms.  With a little cry, she pressed her head to his shoulder and allowed herself to momentarily revel in the support his strong frame offered.  It was remarkable, truly astonishing the amount of comfort a gesture as simple as a touch could translate.  The younger version of herself jumped into his arms and just cried and cried.  Sighing resignedly, she pulled back and met his eyes.  

"I came to tell you something…" she began haltingly.  

Remus remained silent.  

"Mr. Lupin," Cecilia pleaded, her heart hammering in her chest.  "I need to tell you something about Miss Lancaster.  I caught her writing a letter—nothing out of the ordinary, really, but she didn't see come in and so I—I kind of stayed.  She was writing to someone about you being a _werewolf."  She trembled, not afraid of the man before her but afraid have waited too long.  "I don't care if you are a werewolf," she hurried on, heedless to the tears that were spilling from her red-rimmed eyes.  "I saw her writing this letter weeks ago, but the night before last she came to Genevieve and told her that it wasn't necessary to make the bi-weekly visit this weekend—that something had come up at your house—and I'm so sorry, Mr. Lupin.  If I had come forward sooner—" her voice broke off with a sob.  _

Remus pulled a handkerchief out from his pocket and handed it to the weeping girl.  "Cecilia," he began gently, reaching out a steady hand.  "Come out of the cold.  There are some things I think we need to talk about."  

Cecilia nodded and blew her nose into a piece of white linen decorated with golden snitches.  She knew she wasn't making much sense.  

Leading her into the front room, Remus smiled apologetically as he started a fire to cast away the chill from the room.  "Elizabeth and I were having a bit of a lie-in just now.  I am afraid it's not much warmer in here than it is outside."  With fluid motions, candles were lit and the little room began to glow warmly.  "Sit, please." he motioned her to the couch.

"Would you care for tea?"  She shook her head.  "Something stronger, perhaps?" he teased.  Cecilia's eyes widened as he deftly uncorked a decanter filled with an amber liquid.  "Here.  You'll feel warmer."  She watched as he quickly drowned his portion and took a tentative sip.  Fire burned its way down her throat as she pulled a face. 

Reclining back in the armchair, Remus rolled the glass into between his hands.  Telling anyone about his lycanthropy was always difficult, and frankly he was surprised that Margaret hadn't spread the word around the whole IWPA. 

He decided to begin with the basics.  "Cecilia, what Margaret wrote is correct.  I _am a werewolf," he said slowly, appraising her face for signs of a reaction.  "Two nights ago was the full moon.  Two days ago was also supposed to be one of the case-worker visits, and I'm just going to assume Margaret re-scheduled it due to it being my—er—time of the month."_

            "You don't know me very well," he continued in the same soothing voice, "so I can hardly expect you to trust me, but I wish to assure you that Elizabeth is perfectly safe with me.  There are many precautionary steps Sirius and I take to ensure her safety, and I can promise you that I certainly have no intentions of ever harming anyone."  Something akin to compassion mixed with regret passed fleetingly across his tired face.  

            Blushing, Cecilia fumbled slightly with her words.  "Mr. Lupin, I—I'm not afraid of you.  I'll admit to being a bit startled at discovering your secret, but never did I fear for Elizabeth's safety—or my own," she added quickly.  Sensing an almost tangible lightness take over his countenance, she continued slowly, "Your gentleness and keen emotional awareness did much to reassure me that you are indeed the right father for Elizabeth.  I don't need you to prove yourself to me."

            "Thank you, Cecilia," Remus answered humbly.  "And please, call me Remus."

            Cecilia smiled.  She blew her nose again and shook her head fervently as his eyes flickered towards the bottle of Pepper-Up.  "Oh no, you don't," she laughed.  "Trust me you'll have to chase me around the house.  I've learned quite a few tricks from the children."  

            While Remus clarified the details of his transformations and the advances in the Wolfsbane Potion, Cecilia drew up her legs and found herself smiling at the incredible way in which he interlaced his explanations with personal stories.  And when he switched to a less sensitive topic, she couldn't help but notice how animated he became.  Golden eyes flashed merrily as he relayed tale after tale of the antics of a certain group named the Marauders.   And yet through it all, the shadow never completely left his eyes.  _Like the mums, she thought, __before the autumn frost comes and kills their brilliance.    _

"Remus, I'm thinking about leaving the IWPA," she blurted when he stood to re-fill their glasses.

            Startled, Remus stared at her blankly.  They had all been hoping to gain Cecilia's assistance in tracking Margaret's movements.  "You've left, you say?"

            "I _want to leave.  Miss Lancaster has been my warden for twenty years, and for seventeen years I haven't said a word against her—but knowing what I know now—I simply can't stay there any longer," she said, her chin pushed forward obstinately._

            Remus groaned inwardly.  His compassionate nature would never condone Cecilia's return to place of such misery, and yet his own self-preservation kicked in with astonishing force.   Drawing a deep breath, he selected his words carefully.  "Cecilia, there is something I have to tell you about Margaret and a man by the name of Walden McNair."

            "Yes, I know.  They're business associates," she in a very matter of fact tone of voice.  

            "Business associates you say?" Remus asked coolly.  _Bloody hell—just like vile Margaret to call him her fucking business associate! _

Cecilia nodded, wary of Remus' rapidly paling face.  "Yes.  I think it's a recent development though.  She introduced me to him a few weeks back.  A Mr. Walden Macnair.  She said any letters addressed from him should be delivered to her directly.  Sometimes the owl post gets confused.  Why?  Who is he?"

"He works for the Ministry.  He's in charge of executing creatures deemed dangerous by the Department."  

Her mouth fell open.  "I don't understand why Margaret would associate herself with him then.  We don't keep animals at the institution."

Remus viciously poked the fire causing tiny sparks to pop from the grate.  _Animals indeed…  _

"You know, there was a letter I intercepted one day when I was in Miss Lancaster's office.  It just fell open—I _swear, I wasn't prying—and it was from Mr. McNair asking for a time frame," she volunteered hesitantly._

            "_A time frame?" Remus managed to choke out, the poker clattering noisily to the floor.  He sank into his chair._

            Cecilia nodded jerkily, her brown curls tumbling against her slight shoulders.

            "When exactly did you see this letter?" he urged, the wheels in his mind whirring frantically.  "Think, Cecilia, _when?"_

            "It was dated the day after you and Mr. Black took Elizabeth home."

            An angry knot began to form in the pit of Remus' stomach.  Twisting and turning with the force and viciousness of a steel knife it cut upwards against his lungs.  His limbs grew ridged as brilliant streaks of pain passed through his system, dredging up memories of the incredible out of control sensation he experienced just after Hermione had finished talking about the Bristol werewolf.  He shook his head.  _I can't get sick now._

            Just his eyes began to glaze over from the throbbing sensation of reigning in his pain a soft pop drew his attention to the fireplace.  

Sirius pulled himself from the ashes carefully.  He cast surprised eyes about the room and immediately sensed that something was amiss.  The thickness of the air was palpable.  "Remus," he cried out in concern as he noticed the glazed look in the yellow eyes.  "Remus, _stop that."  Remus' eyes slowly swirled back into focus, his heart slamming against his chest in relief.  Sirius was home.  _

He knelt next to Remus and pulled clammy hands into his own warm ones.  Frightened at the way his lover sat rigidly in his chair, the only movement an erratic pulse pounding in his temple, Sirius pressed their palms tightly together.  Intense waves of electrical heat passed between the two men as currents of love and strength passed from the stronger man to reinvigorate the weaker.

Gasping audibly, Remus jerked his shoulder towards Cecilia who sat prone on the couch, her face a frozen mask of confusion at what just transpired.  Sirius nodded brusquely at her before turning his full attention back on his lover.

"What are you doing out of bed?" was all he could manage.

Laughing weakly, Remus tried to push himself out of the armchair.  "What are you doing home so late?" he countered.

Sirius frowned at Remus' flippancy.  "Moony," he complained.  

"Cecilia arrived not too long ago.  We've been talking."

"Some kind of talking to put you in this state," Sirius groused.

"Hello, Mr. Black," Cecilia called quietly.  She always felt a little in awe of the wizard in front of her who radiated such manliness, such heated power.  She recalled the charming smile he bestowed upon her the day they came to pick up Elizabeth, and it was at times like these that she lived off her initial reaction in order to still her irrational fears.

"Cecilia," he replied curtly without a backwards glance.    

"What happened at your meeting?" Remus broke the awkward silence.  When Sirius refused to answer, Remus sighed heavily.  "Cecilia knows about Margaret and McNair.  She gained privy to a letter in which McNair requested a time frame from Margaret." 

Sirius' eyes flew to Remus' face in alarm.  His hands tightened convulsively as his handsome face darkened.  "When was this?"

Cecilia cowed under the harsh timbre of his voice.  "I—I saw the letter the day after you left—"

"And you just _now came to tell us, you foolish girl?"  Sirius bit out furiously.  _

"I—I…" Cecilia felt truly frightened of the tall dark man looming over her.  He had released Remus' hands and had turned towards her in an intimidating stance.  She shrank back against the couch.

"Do you understand what is happening here?  Do you understand that this man's very _life is in jeopardy?"_

Cecilia's eyes flew to Remus, all color draining from her face.     

"Every minute you kept this to yourself is a minute less that we have for developing a plan—"  Sirius struggled to keep his hands at his side so great was his desire to shake her.

"Sirius!" Remus interjected sternly, coming to his feet shakily. Sirius turned to snap at him to sit back down.  "You will _not speak to her like that, Sirius.  Cecilia had no way of knowing the importance of the document." His normally calm face blazed with anger.  "Cecilia came to us as soon as she could." _

"Remus," he protested angrily.  "You yourself told me that something was amiss when she came to visit the last time."  Turning back to Cecilia, he tried to control his voice for Remus' sake.  "You knew about this last time, didn't you?"

            Cecilia nodded mutely.

            "And you didn't say anything."

            "I—well… I didn't _know—Miss Lancaster told me he was her business partner," she wailed.  "I didn't even know he was a werewolf!"_

            "_Business partner?"  Sirius was apoplectic. _

            Remus covered his face with his hands.  "Stop shouting, Sirius, and yes.  Margaret introduced him to Cecilia as her business partner."

            "And do you know what their little business venture is, Cecilia?  Can you visualize an axe?  Picture a pool of blood.  _That's how they kill werewolves." _

            The room went deadly still.  Even the fire ceased to crackle.    

Sighing deeply, Sirius ran a hand through his hair in sheer frustration.  "You need to tell us everything you know, Cecilia."

            Remus walked over to the trembling girl and cast Sirius a reproachful yet sympathetic look.  He laid am arm comfortingly about her shoulders and pressed her gently against his side.  This consoling gesture coming from a man she had greatly wronged caused Cecilia to break down in bitter, self-reproaching tears.  Patting her back awkwardly, Remus watched Sirius' expression carefully.  He understood his anger—agreed with it to a certain degree—and yet, Cecilia's frightened expression and streams of tears did much to alleviate his own fury.  Pulling her back against his chest, he allowed her to balance her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his nose slightly.  

            "Padfoot, will you hand me the tissues?" he asked calmly, his neck growing damp from the great rivulets of tears.

            Sirius summoned the tissues and dropped them on the couch next to Remus.  He wasn't quite ready to forgive her act of cowardice.

            "Remus, Charlie and Percy were planning on dropping by in a little bit.  Would you rather I owl Percy's assistance and ask them to come tomorrow?"

            Remus shook his head.  "No," he said quietly.  "I want to talk with Percy tonight.  Cecilia," he turned to the hiccupping girl in his arms.  He tenderly raised her head and with tissue in hand, carefully wiped the remaining tears from her once rosy cheeks.  "Cecilia, friends of ours are going to drop by soon, and I would appreciate it greatly if you told them what you told me."  Cecilia's eyes peeked at Sirius nervously from under wet lashes.  "Sirius will be fine," he said firmly.

            Sirius moved to the fireplace and stared pensively at the shower of sparks falling from a glowing log.  His terrible anger at the injustice of the situation ate at him relentlessly.  From the moment Charlie's letter arrived he felt such hostility at the world—hostility he hadn't experienced since Azkaban.  The range of emotions flowing through his body terrified him, and he trembled slightly at the deep-seeded knowledge that if the situation called for it he would do _anything to save Remus.  He stared at his shaking hands in wonderment and briefly imagined the power he could channel into these two extensions of his muscular arms.  And yet at the same time he felt ashamed of his thoughts.  Remus was constantly instructing him on how to reign in his temper, and for him to lose control and turn into the very epitome of the monster Remus feared the most… Sirius gripped his fists furiously, feeling his nails cut into his palms—and he reveled in the pain.                 _

            Cecilia's crying gradually ceased, and Sirius heard Remus tell her where the bathroom was.  He listened to her footsteps fade away.  Suddenly he felt two strong arms embrace him tightly around his waist.  He could smell Remus' warmth—a faint hint of his cologne, a trace of Elizabeth's milk—but mostly he could detect the aroma of affection as Remus pressed his face against his neck.  No anger, just love.  Remus no longer held his body rigidly, but rather nestled it softly along the contours of Sirius' tall frame.

            "Damn it, Remus… I do apologize…" he muttered, still facing the flames.  "But I'm still bloody furious!  Fucking _business associate?"_

            Remus' laugh was muffled in the thickness of Sirius' robes.  He squeezed tightly and grinned as Sirius yelped.  "That's _exactly what I thought."_

            "Remus, you know that I only reacted because of the harm facing you," he said petulantly.  Remus squeezed him again.  "I love you, Moony, and I'm sorry if I haven't taken a page from you and learned to control my temper."

            "It's all right, Paddy.  I understand."

            Sirius turned completely.  "You do?"  He raised hopeful eyes at the man who stood before him with such regal grace.  Remus nodded.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Sirius tugged at Remus' arms.  "God, it's good that you put up with me..."  He leaned his dark head forward and pecked at his lips.  "But I'm still angry."  

            "Silly Padfoot," Remus chuckled between kisses.  He traced Sirius' upper lip hotly before pulling it into his mouth.  As his tongue pressed forward to mingle in the dark hot warmth offered so sweetly up to him, he jumped slightly and bit down on Sirius' lip.

"Ow!  What did you do that for, Moony?" Sirius protested, nursing his injured lip.  "Gads, I think I'm bleeding."

            Remus stilled and cocked his head to the side worriedly.  "Do you hear that?  I swear I just heard a dog barking.  We're not close enough to the village…"

            Sirius listened closely.  Suddenly he shouted in astonishment.  "Omigod it works!"

            Frowning, Remus stared with narrowed eyes at his lover who was doubled over in mirth.  "_What did you do, Sirius, and why does that sound like __you?"_

            "Because it _is me, Moony!  Elizabeth needs a fresh nappy."  _

            "How do you know that?  You can't possibly have heard her.  I didn't hear a sound and you know my hearing is loads better than yours!" Remus protested as he chased after Sirius who bounded up the stairs with athletic ease.

            Dashing into the bedroom, Remus crashed into Sirius' broad back.  

            "See, Moony?" Sirius said with an air of superiority.  A little miniature Padfoot barked anxiously from Elizabeth's chest.  Their daughter sat staring at the front of her dress, her small fingers picking anxiously at the little decal.  

            "Da da!" she cried out, stretching her small arms towards the two men.  

Sirius sniffed the air expectantly.  "Ah… there it is, Moony.  _Definitely a new nappy."  _

"So this is what you were busy doing that morning when you let the kettle whistle for hours."  Remus disengaged the barrier and bent down to pick up his daughter.  She rubbed her rosy cheek against his.  "I don't want to know what other surprises are in store for me, do I?

Sirius shrugged in amusement.  "A Marauder never tells in advance.  You should know that, Moony.  Besides," he called back as he danced out of the room.  "It's your turn to change her."

Remus laughed.  "I'll have to keep an eye on you, Lizzie, just in case you decide to take a page from Daddy Sirius' book."  He propped her up on his hip and strolled into the nursery.  "Blimey!"  He wrinkled his nose.  "Let's silence Padfoot shall we?"  He kissed his daughter quickly and smiled into her violet eyes.  Elizabeth bestowed one of her gorgeous smiles in return.  

"Ah yes…We'll be fine, won't we, Lizzie?  Just fine," Remus whispered.


	9. The Kingdom of Lauriel

A/N: I just wanted to attribute the saying "one of the race of Joseph" to L.M. Montgomery as unfortunately it's not my own.  Thank you to all the new reviewers—you guys are all the sunshine in my life.  Oh and yes… *anyone* who is enjoying the boys' journey is more than welcome to add it to their favorites list.  I'm so flattered!!

Chapter 9

            It was, Remus thought as he absently picked up crumbs with his middle finger, an interesting meeting to say the least.  The absence of fireworks has been somewhat surprising as was the perfectly cordial manner in which Percy and Charlie treated each other.  He could hear the low rumble of voices from the foyer as Charlie, Percy, and Cecilia bid Sirius farewell, and he paused in the act of stacking china cups to stare reflectively out the window.  There really wasn't anything to see from his vantage point—the inky darkness completely swallowed the trees which in turn stretched far enough up into the sky to block out the stars.  But he knew the stars were there with as much certainty as he was aware of the pounding of his own heart.  He didn't need a scientific explanation to explain that the stars existed regardless of the change in atmosphere, and likewise he knew it wasn't necessary to place a hand over his chest to garner proof that his heart was beating.

            There was a story his mother had told him in a time so long ago he had almost forgotten.   A child's tale, one that was whispered through soft lips as equally smooth hands folded the blankets a quarter turn, exactly the way he liked it.  Elizabeth was one of the race of Joseph, a mother who never needed to be told what her child wanted, but knew instinctively through touches, looks, and certain twinkles of the eye.  And yet, she knew how not to mollycoddle, for although she was a woman, she understood the importance a small boy placed on being a man.  Over the years this tale became a ritual on Saturday nights, and he could remember how she would count down the days on his small pink fingers, bending one forward  each night—six, five, four, three, two, one, _today…_

            _"And so, my little bear," she began in the way all magical stories must, "Once upon a time there was a magical kingdom high in those puffy clouds right outside your window—do you remember its name?"_

_            "Lauriel, Mama," said the sweet little voice, eyes dancing with eager impatience. _

_            "Yes.  Quite right.  Look hard.  See that bright pink one?  Can you see the little ripples in the clouds?  Those are the people's footprints."  The child's eyes widened as indeed he could see how the clouds shifted, overlapping as the wind blew, and his small mind wondered for a moment if that was foot peeking past the wisps.  Those looked like toes…  "In this kingdom everyone had soft furry tails like bunnies and big golden eyes with springs built into their feet.  Every girl was named after a flower and all the boys had names that began with the letter R."      _

_            "Like Remus and Robert and Rafael…" he piped up, his own hand worming beneath the blankets to see if perhaps he had grown a tail after all.  Ah… not yet… but, he remembered, there was still his wish on the evening star…_

_            "Why, little bear, you could tell Mama the story!  Try—go ahead…" And so Remus began to spin the tale of a world he dreamed of nightly—a world where fantastical creatures and boys could romp in the fields and no one was ever hunted or hurt… for Remus hated blood and pain.  In Lauriel, acorns concealed a chocolate surprise and mothers never yelled when children ran home covered in brown stains, for in this kingdom, chocolate was a food group just like potatoes.  And if a boy were to ask his mother for permission to stay out all night and sleep on the roof, she would pack him a thermos of cocoa and hand him his sleeping bag, no questions asked.    _

_            Elizabeth ended the ritual by planting kisses all over his chubby pink cheeks and declaring that yes indeed, he might be served chocolate gravy over his meatloaf if he closed his eyes like a good boy.  With his well-loved brown bear cuddled against his cheek, Remus would wait until the door closed to make his wish.  _

_            The last wish he made was for springs to grow on his feet._

_            But that had been before… Things were different this night.  His mother picked up his pale, blue-veined hand, touching the thin fingers one by one.  She hesitated slightly, almost afraid of what she would see in her son's eyes were she to move his fingers.  "Shall I, Remus, my little bear?"_

_            The boy turned his face away, his cheek pressed against the pillow.  His hand lay limp in her palm, the fingers tense.  "No, Mama.  I don't want to hear that story."  She tried again, her own eyes dry as she awkwardly smoothed down the curled corner of the bandage.  She had never before felt ill at ease around her son, and yet tonight… tonight he was a foreign child… not wholly her own… and her heart screamed at the unfairness of it all.  "Tell me, Mama, about the story of the wolves."_

_            "My little bear, I know no stories about wolves."  Her voice was filled with sorrow.  "But I can tell you the old story—even though it's not Saturday.  That doesn't matter anymore."  Her son turned his face until it stared directly at her own, their noses almost touching.  _

_            "No.  It doesn't matter anymore.  I'm tired, Mama.  May I sleep?"_

_            And so __Elizabeth__ folded his blanket a quarter turn and blew out the candle, for her son had never feared the dark.  She looked back hesitantly, fully prepared to light the candle should he make the request, but he simply lay quietly, his eyes closed, his pinched face turned away from the window… from the stars and the clouds and the magical __kingdom__ of __Lauriel__.  Just as she moved to pull the door shut, she took a final peek, and her heart constricted.  The child of her womb held within his tight embrace his stuffed bear, one tiny hand stroking the soft ears over and over.  The door closed soundlessly, and __Elizabeth__'s knees gave way as she slowly sank to the floor to finally cry. _

            The sharp sound of china hitting china startled him.  "Oh, hold it there…"  Remus quickly righted the teetering cups.  He smiled faintly as he remembered his first meeting with the girl with the snapping eyes.  _Lily.  It had been the first time he had ever met someone with the name of a flower, and for a brief moment a memory of Lauriel flickered across his mind before vanishing as the raucous cries of his mates urged him from the train.  _

            He wondered if making a wish on just any star would count.  

            "Sirius," he called as picked up the tray, "Can you move Elizabeth up to bed?  I'll just finish in the kitchen."

            With a yawn, Sirius entered the room and began to bank the fire.  "I'm glad Cecilia has decided to stay on.  I was worried for a moment.  It's probably a good thing Charlie and Percy were here.  I doubt anything I said would have mattered."

            Remus' mind was busy thinking of feet with springs.  "Cecilia will cooperate because she has a kind heart," he said softly.  "And I was proud of you for apologizing—it's not an easy thing to do."   

            Sirius poked the logs viciously.  A spark jumped from the pile of ash and slowly blinked out its last bit of life on the stone hearth.  "Moony," he said almost as an afterthought, "You think Cecilia will be okay?  With Margaret and all.  If I had only known what she dealt with…"  

            Remus said only, "Sirius, don't dwell."

            "Yeah, yeah… I know, this is your department, Moony, _you're the expert," he grumbled.  He turned his head and watched with guarded eyes as Remus made his way out of the room, his shoulders slumped forward despite his bravado earlier this evening.  His palms tingled as they were wont to do whenever Remus was in pain—physically or emotionally.  This was the strongest most tangible connection he could possibly have with another human, and yet… despite their unique bond, Remus could still find ways to close off the connection.  Sirius closed his hand tightly. _

            It truly wasn't concern for Cecilia's cooperation that ate away at his mind.  Percy's comments regarding werewolf executions had frightened him terribly.   His eyes returned to the fire and he shuddered in physical pain at the thought that man could so easily burn another human alive.  The crackling of skin, the putrid smell of charred flesh, the agonizing screams.  He knew the Ministry had resorted to other means of execution, but the vision of Remus' head on the block like a common beast was equally horrifying.  

            Unable to bear his own horrendous visions any longer and wishing desperately to touch Remus, Sirius hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the other man around the waist in a fierce embrace.  Remus gasped in surprise and dropped a plate with a crash.

            "Sirius?" he breathed, his chest crushed beneath the amazingly strong grip of his lover.  

            Sirius burrowed his nose in the fine strands of hair falling against Remus' cheekbones and inhaled the scent he prized above all others.  A hint of musk coupled with the faintest trace of pine soap and a splash of masculinity completely original to Remus.  He wriggled his nose slightly in the feathery softness, and Remus let out a small laugh at the tickling sensation.        

            Remus bowed his head slightly and stared at the long fingers linked together against his chest.  He traced the ridges of Sirius' knuckles and pressed his head back against the other man's warm neck.  Closing his eyes he reveled in the heat radiating from the tall form supporting his weight.  If he allowed his mind full release from the conflict of emotions churning inside, he felt as if he could achieve weightlessness—so firmly did Sirius hold him.

            Sirius' words came in soft caresses against Remus' ear.  "Thank you," he whispered.

            Remus kept his eyes closed as the heady feeling of floating over took him.  His very feet seemed to linger inches above the floor.  _Like flying… __Like the time Sirius took me for a __midnight__ ride above the grounds on his confiscated boom… A slow smile graced his slightly pink lips._

            The all-consuming embrace continued for long minutes as neither man moved.  Finally Remus allowed himself to float back down.  He shuffled around in Sirius' arms and smiled shyly.  "What are you thankful for?" he asked, a rosy blush staining the faint hollows on his cheeks.

            For one of the rare moments in his life, Sirius wasn't quite sure what to say.  

            "You know what I was thinking, hmm?" Remus placed a cool hand on Sirius' forehead and threaded his slim fingers through the fallen locks.  "I was just reliving the sensation of that very first ride you took me on.  D'ya remember, Siri?  It was just after Easter holiday third year and McGonagall had confiscated your broom after she caught you launching of the roof."  He wondered if Sirius, whose mind acted like a sieve on occasion, would even remember.  "I hated flying lessons, and you threatened to announce to the whole Slytherin table what a fine—er—backside I had if I didn't meet you at the North Tower that evening."  He laughed as he stretched on his toes to kiss the tip of Sirius' nose.  "So I came because at the time the idea of feeding Snape and Malfoy more ammunition was a bit off-setting."  

            "I wouldn't have said anything."

            "Yeah, I know. James would have killed you first," Remus grinned lopsidedly.

            "No—I mean, I wouldn't have said anything… because it was just a bet."

            "A—bet?"

            "A bet to see—to see if you would fly with me," Sirius explained cautiously.

            Remus looked at Sirius in confusion.  "Why were you guys betting on me?  Why did you care whether I got on a broom or not?"  His mind knew there was far more to his explanation.  "We never cared that Peter didn't fly."

            "You refused to get on a broom, Moony," Sirius said mildly, his mind occupied with thoughts of how young and vulnerable Remus looked suddenly.  "We always thought you were too damn serious—Peter, James and me… so we made a bet to see who could get you off the ground first."  Sirius cringed slightly at the wounded look settling in Remus' eyes.  

            "So…" Remus said in a small voice, "there wasn't anything special about our ride? It was just me all these years projecting something that wasn't there to begin with?"  He couldn't quite conceal his hurt disappointment.  In fact, he suddenly felt incredibly foolish for pocketing that one memory in his heart like a precious jewel.

Sirius suppressed the urge to kick himself.  He hastened to explain before he injured Remus further.  "No—no, Moony," he stressed urgently.  "Flying is an incredibly mind-blowing experience, and I wanted you to experience the sensation of weightlessness—of feeling as if all your troubles could be left on the ground as you kicked off.  I wanted you to feel emotionally free for a change.  That's all—it wasn't really a real bet—not like the others.  James and Peter weren't really going to try anyway."  A slightly aggrieved look appeared on his face.  "They didn't did they?"

Remus shook his head, his worry dissipating quickly at the boyish look of worried uncertainty on Sirius' face.  He wanted to laugh in relief at how easily Sirius hastened to explain away any past transgressions.

            Sirius' laugh rumbled deep within his chest.  "That's good to hear.  It was, after all," he lowered his lips suggestively and brushed them swiftly against Remus' warm slightly open mouth, "supposed to be my wonderful ploy to get you to notice me."  His breath tickled Remus' lips.  Remus reached up with his hands and gently cupped the sides of his lover's face.    

            A faintly amused smile lingered on Remus' lips.  "Well, it worked.  And I have loosened up haven't I?"

            "Marginally," Sirius said with a wry grin before he once again seized hold of the slightly moist lips beckoning him forward.  Tongues tangled wetly as heated passion seized hold of the men.  Sirius' kiss was delightfully hard and hot Remus reflected hazily, as hard and hot as the rest of his exquisite body.  His hands refused to release their hold on Sirius' face, and he thought briefly of throwing him backwards on the kitchen table before deciding wisely that their bed would be infinitely more satisfying.    

            After several long minutes, Remus lowered his hands hesitantly and placed them on the wide expanse of Sirius' chest.  "Padfoot, can I tell you something?" he panted slightly as he tried to slow the pounding of his heart.

            Sirius heart constricted at the unabashed adoration he saw in Remus' eyes.  He was amazed at how he reacted to Remus' every touch.  Not wanting to release the blissful surrender he was so close to achieving, he bowed his dark head and began to kiss a path down Remus' slender neck, lingering over the pulse beating frantically at the base of his throat.

            "I loved flying with you."

            Startled, Sirius stared at his partner in astonishment.  "But you never went again, Remus."

            "In my mind I have—I just went, actually." 

            "But then why did you refuse me all those times I asked you?" he asked in slightly hurt tones not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

            Remus pressed his ear momentarily against Sirius' chest.  The rhythm soothed his ruffled spirits. "My stomach couldn't handle the kick-off or the landing," he quipped.  Altering his tone at the dark look Sirius gave him, he continued quietly, "To escape from my burdens in such a fashion would have been detrimental to me.  It's like the man who cannot stop drinking.  I would have used it as an escape mechanism instead of living in reality."

            "But if it offers you release," Sirius tried to argue.

            Remus shook his head firmly.  "No.  It doesn't.  Not really.  I'd rather experience the temporary sensation of emotional freedom in your arms where I can float just as easily—and not loose total control."

            Remembering Remus' earlier question, Sirius spoke the words hidden in his heart since the start of the conversation.  "You asked me, Moony, what I was thankful for."  He closed his eyes for a second as he tried to make sense of his jumbled thoughts.  Verbal coherency wasn't one of his strong suits.  "I'm thankful that I am here with you—thankful that I finally have a chance to truly help my partner—my best friend—my soul mate.  I guess I'm mostly thankful for the simple fact that for once in your life you don't have to stand alone as a man stranded on an island amidst a raging unforgiving sea."

            Remus' smooth brow furrowed slightly at the self-reprehension in the other man's voice.  

            "Whatever bloody Lancaster and Macnair have concocted I can promise you Moony that they'll have to kill me before they succeed," Sirius growled.  His mood changed quickly from passion-driven lust to impotent rage.

            "Shush… don't talk like that, Sirius."  His hands trembled from their post on Sirius chest as he tried to pat him consolingly.  "We'll get through this."

            "Don't try to be noble and tell me you aren't frightened, Remus.  I won't believe you this time."

            "Fine, then don't," Remus sighed impatiently.  

            Sirius dropped his arms and took a step back.  An angry glint formed in his eyes.  "Tell me you're scared," he persisted.

            Remus turned away and proceeded to pick up the pieces of the shattered china.  _How did we start arguing?_

            "Answer me, Remus," he demanded.

            "What do you want me to say?"    

            "I want you to stop being so damn brave and tell me you're as scared shitless as I am!  Yell at me about the injustice of the situation—tell me you're glad I am here for you—or not—anything, Remus except hiding behind your damn wall!" Sirius shouted in frustration, a bit surprised at his own outburst but too upset to stop himself.  All thoughts of breathing were forgotten as he leaned heavily against the table, his legs splayed.

            "How is that going to help anything?"

            Remus' weary calmness infuriated Sirius.  Sirius who just wanted to storm into the Ministry building and pound Macnair so hard into the ground… already his fists were balled in anticipation.  _Forget magic, he thought._

            "You said you didn't fly with me because you can't avoid your problems that way.  Tell me now that you aren't doing that.  Tell me you didn't just say that you imagined being weightless."

            Remus was silent, his shoulders held stiffly.

            "The executions then.  Tell me Percy's stories didn't sicken the hell out of you."  Sirius ground his jaw in anger, heedless of the insensitivity of his words as he worked to get a rise out of Remus.

            The hands busy forming small piles of china fragments stilled.  Remus felt his face drain.  His right index finger caught the edge of a shard and began to bleed.  Bright crimson shone brilliantly against blue white flesh.  

            He slowly turned to face the furious man leaning against the kitchen table, his hands clenched tightly in readiness for a physical fight that would never happen.  Remus' face was almost translucent in the dim light of the room.  His eyes burned as heat lashed out at the other man.  The wolf inside him howled long measured cries of distressed fury, for the wolf could cry when the man could not.  Approaching Sirius with deliberate steps, he paused as their escalated breathing mingled in the thick silence of the room.

            "As a man I breathe.  As a wolf I breathe the same air.  But as both man and wolf I am undeserving of such privileges.  I ask you this, Sirius, in which category should I be judged?  If I allow my fears to manifest and consume me how can I separate the man from the beast?  In my lupine state I live in constant dread and anxiety.  I choose not to spend my days as a man in the same state."  With these final words he strode quickly out of the kitchen.

**********

Remus kicked a pile of leaves covering the stone path leading to the country road.  Bright glistening stars twinkled in the velvet night sky, and the waning moon sparkled in its cold brilliancy.  The cool autumn air stirred slightly and caressed his hair like a rain shower of kisses.  Raising high his own shining orbs, he sought out Canis Major.  Somehow over the years he had trained his mind into feeling comforted by the constant Dog Star—a peaceful reminder that despite all of life's turmoil there still existed certain universal truths.

Shivering slightly he crossed the garden to the low picket fence surrounding the grounds.  Pressing up against the worn white boards, he placed his hands a top of the sharp points and shuffled his feet in the dewy grass.  

His mind raced tonight with a million discomforting thoughts.  He had fled the stifling confines of the house loaded with penetrating stares and quick barbs in search of a moment of silence, but in the vast openness of the outdoors he failed to find escape.  His jumbled emotions simply followed him wherever he went.

_Executions.  That single word wielded so much power._

As a scholar and as a self-preserving individual, Remus was privy to the knowledge of werewolf executions throughout history.  In the past he had chosen not to dwell on these acts of cruelty, but in the current situation he couldn't escape the reality of the horrible tales.  Pin-prick shivers tickled his spine and the flesh of his arms broke into a million tiny goose bumps.

_It wasn't just the __Bristol__ werewolf._

Remus was pragmatic.  He understood first hand the intolerance the Wizarding community had towards werewolves.  He never deceived himself into believing a _normal life was possible—a character trait that particularly infuriated Sirius.  It was not as if he lived morosely and without hope, he just maintained the belief that there were certain individuals who would accept him as a man and others who would forever view him as a beast.           _

_For centuries werewolves have been under the receiving end of the ax or in the center of an inferno.  _

The brightness of the night sky suddenly infuriated Remus.  He felt as if the very stars and moon were mocking him.  _As if they understand that I'll never reach their state of purity.  Clenching his fists around the posts he was consumed with the overwhelming desire to raise his head and howl at the sky.  He hated Lauriel. _

Sirius' words drummed through his mind.  Lowering his weary head to his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut as memories crashed forward.

_"You know why we can't make you Harry's official guardian, don't you, Remus?  You have to believe me that it has absolutely nothing to do with my feelings towards you."  James' voice pleaded.  _

_Remus sat silently on the ottoman at James' feet, his eyes tracing patterns on the dark carpet.  _

_Sirius strode down the stairs in the shadows, his hand balanced lightly on the railing.  He stilled at James' words.  Lily and James had asked him earlier to be Harry's godfather, a role he was honored to posses.  And now Remus is upset…_

_James ran his fingers agitatedly though his hair.  A muscle clenched spasmodically in his strong jaw.  He watched Remus with a guarded expression.  "The Ministry has rules…" he tried again, his words sounding weak to his own ears.  "The Department prohibits the assigning of guardianship to—to people they consider to not be fully human.  You know if it were up to Lily and me—"_

_Remus raised pain-shadowed eyes to James' face slowly.  "I would rather you not go into all the details, James," he said in his quiet way.  "And don't think that I am offended."_

_James blinked in hurt confusion.  "But Moony.  Don't you want to be one of Harry's guardians?"  _

_"I would do anything for your son, James, but I don't need the Ministry to lesson my value as a human being."  Remus paused, considering.  "I would never do anything to jeopardize the safety of your family—you are all I have left now—you and Peter and—and Sirius."_

_"But the Ministry—"_

_Remus shrugged lightly.  "James, if I can't be Harry's godfather on paper I'll have to content myself with having the role in my heart."_

_James could count the number of times he had cried in his life on one hand.  Gazing at the brave man seated before him he felt prickles of tears tease at his lids.  In a fluid motion, he pulled Remus to his feet and embraced him tightly.  "I love you, Moony," he said gruffly, somewhat startled at the sentimental expression._

_Sirius entered the room with a lazy smile on his handsome face.  "I believe, Prongs, that you've just overstepped the boundaries of our friendship."  He slapped the other black-haired man on the back for show._

_James released Remus with a grin and searched the over-bright eyes for a second.  He saw registered in the other man's face happiness, admiration, and something akin to acceptance.  Calling out loudly, he exclaimed joyously, "Lily!  Let's celebrate!  Remus and Sirius have agreed to be Harry's proper role models!"   __A groan echoed from the kitchen.      _

Remus felt a splinter of wood pierce his palm.  

_This all happened about ten years ago, and since then no werewolf has been legally sanctioned to have parenting rights—until you, Remus._

Sirius' expression at Hermione's words had frightened him at the time.  Now he wondered dully why special permissions had been granted.  Surely offering reparations to Sirius couldn't have been the only reason.  If that were the case—if he was still not to be considered a man—then by all practical means he would never be considered Elizabeth's true father.  _I'm a byproduct of an apology to Sirius, he thought bitterly._

_Hermione has found inconsistencies in the ledger and there is reason to believe that lycanthropy might be transferred from parent to child…  _

_Only person to have guardianship of a ward since the __Bristol__ werewolf…  _

_Executed him after destroying his credibility…_

_Percy wants to track down the __Bristol__ werewolf's child…He's at Hogwarts…_

"No one even refers to him by name.  He's just the 'Bristol werewolf'," Remus whispered furiously, feeling deep-seeded compassion for the ill-fated man.  "He's been objectified to the point of non-existence."

A long mournful howl sounded from deep within the grove of trees behind the cottage.  Remus turned at the sound, unafraid, and gazed upon his home.  He could sense the ordinary wolf and knew that it in turn could smell him.  A soft yellow glow spilled from the front windows onto the floorboards of the porch.  The upstairs windows were dark, the curtains drawn for the night.  A figure paced back and forth in front of the light, and he wondered what Sirius was thinking.

He shivered again.  He felt so empty… so emotionally drained and exhausted.  _Is life going to always consist of these uphill battles?  Passing a hand over his eyes, he leaned back against the fence despairingly.  So much of his life was spent resisting the urge to dwell in self-pity.  He smiled wryly.  __Life's just one big pep talk, isn't it, Remus?_

The front door opened and warm light poured out into the darkness.  Sirius stood in the doorway, his face hidden in shadows.  

"Moony?" he called tentatively.

"I'll be there in a minute," Remus answered quietly.  

After a brief pause, Sirius closed the door, and Remus was once again a solitary figure in the expansiveness of the night.  

**********

Charlie walked briskly down the main road leading into the village of Hogsmead.  Howard had agreed to meet him at The Three Broomsticks and as usual, Charlie was running behind schedule.  He trotted the last few meters and pulled open the heavy door with ease.  Stepping back, he smiled in apology as three teen-aged witches tumbled forward.  They took in his appearance appreciatively, giggled madly, and rushed off down the lane.  One of the witches sporting red and gold Gryffindor colors blushed as he caught her glancing backwards.

            Chuckling, Charlie walked into the pub and looked around for Howard.  His partner waved from the end of the bar, and Charlie weaved his way through the Hogwarts' crush.  

            "'Lo, Whitney," he said in greeting.  Plunking himself on a tall barstool, he smiled cheekily at Madame Rosmerta who leaned over the bar engrossed in an animated debate with two wizened wizards.  "Big pint of mulled mead, gorgeous."

            Madam Rosmerta threw a cockroach cluster over her shoulder at his bright hair, and her brilliant red mouth laughed in amusement as it bounced off the middle of his forehead and into Howard's shot glass of Ogden's Firewiskey.

            Charlie raised an eyebrow in question.  "All right there, Whitney?"

            The striking blonde man stared in dismay at his ruined drink.  

            "Another firewhiskey for my partner over here, Madame Rosmerta," Charlie called loudly.  "_Please."    _

            Two drinks barreled their way down the smooth waxed surface of the bar.  Charlie expertly caught the handle of his pint and raised it directly to his lips.  Over the edge of his mug he watched as Howard smoothly knocked back the burning liquid with clear expertise.  

            "Not too bad, mate," Charlie said in admiration.  Howard shrugged in his matter-of-fact manner.

            "So, Weasley, what did you want to meet about?  I thought we had the weekend off."  He frowned.  "Augustine doesn't want us to report back early does he, because—"

            "Nah, nothing like that.  Augustine told me that the Welsh Green hatching went well."

            Howard rolled his glass between his palms.  "Yeah, she hatched all right.  Augustine took her right away—oh, and he said to tell you that we're going to try to locate the mother's herd."

            Charlie nodded in approval.  "Good.  That's ruddy good news."

            Silence fell as Charlie took another long drink.  

            "Weasley…" Howard drawled in impatient tones. 

            Turning towards his partner, Charlie noted immediately that Howard's stubble was gone as were the shadows under his eyes.  His impeccably groomed body was dressed muggle-style, and he was back to being his typical arrogant self.  Charlie groaned inwardly.

            "Look Whitney, I have a favor to ask of you."

            "Oh, yeah?"  Howard reached into the inside pocket of his dark brown leather jacket and pulled out a pack of Kents.  Tilting his head slightly, he lit the end of his fag with the tip of his wand.  "_Incendio."  Inhaling deeply, he pushed the pack towards Charlie._

            Charlie shook his head.  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed two witches staring at them—_or rather, he amended, __they are ogling Whitney.  One of the girls rose and sauntered around the table to stand next to Howard's stool._

            Howard turned slightly as her citrus fragrance floated under his nostrils.  His eyes widened appreciatively as he took in her flowing blonde hair and wide cornflower blue eyes.  His eyes lingered on her voluptuous chest for a moment.  He smiled rakishly at the young witch and leaned back against the bar, propping his elbows on the edge.

            "Hello," he said with a devil-may-care look in his blue eyes. 

            The young witch, _who can't be more than seventeen, Charlie thought wryly, spread her over-glossy lips into a wide smile._

            "You're Howard Whitney, right?  The Dragon Keeper?"

            "Right on—and _you are?"_

            "Claudia."

            Charlie coughed loudly as he suppressed a grin.  "Charlie," he interjected loudly.  "Whitney's personal assistant." Howard threw him a slightly disgruntled look.  

            Claudia glanced over at the red-haired man and ran her eyes up and down his muscular form.  She smiled sympathetically before turning her attention to Howard.  She touched his arm lightly with a perfectly manicured nail.

            "Would you and your assistant fancy joining us for a drink?  That's Helen over there," Claudia waved at her friend, a brunette version of herself.  Howard lifted his hand in greeting as Charlie nodded his head over his mug.  He recognized the blue and bronze of her scarf as being Ravenclaw colors.

            Howard ran a large hand over his perfectly smooth hair and opened his mouth to accept just as Charlie shook his head.

            "Sorry, Claudia, but Whitney and I have to talk.  Give us a minute, will you?" he added as she glared at him.  

Claudia scowled at the audacity certain assistants seemed to possess before caressing Howard's arm one last time.  She walked unhurriedly back to her friend.

            "Oi!  Whitney!"

            Howard turned reluctantly back to Charlie and frowned slightly.

            "If you're done undressing her with your eyes would you mind listening to me?" he asked in an irritated voice.

            "Sorry.  What's that, Weasley?"

            Charlie rolled his eyes inwardly as Howard snuck another quick look at the girls.  _Sweet Merlin, he groaned in exasperation.  "Whitney, I want to know if you remember hearing anything about the Bristol Werewolf case during university."_

            "The Bristol Werewolf case?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing.

            "Yeah—it went to trial about ten years ago."

            Howard lit up another fag and was silent for a long moment.  "The Ministry kept the Bristol Werewolf case pretty hushed up.  No one outside of the Department was really aware of it—you know, people heard rumors and all…" he took a long drag and slowly blew geometric shapes towards the ceiling.  "Dietmar Huber.  Yeah… that was his name.  He came to Bristol from Germany after the birth of his sister's baby."  He looked sharply at Charlie's fascinated stare and said suspiciously, "What do you want with this anyway?"

            Realizing he knew very little about his partner, Charlie feigned innocence and replied carelessly, "Nothing, mate.  I just heard rumors about werewolf executions and wondered if they were true."

            Howard tapped his ashes onto the floor before taking another long, smooth drag.  Charlie grimaced slightly as the air around his head became blue with smoke. "I don't know how many werewolves are executed these days—I think the Committee keeps a pretty tight reign on that sort of thing here.  I hear executions are still pretty regular on the Continent though."

            "What about Robert Culpepper?  You know of him?" Charlie pressed.

            Howard stood abruptly.  "Did you ask me here just to talk about werewolves, Weasley?  Cause if you did I have other things I'd rather do on my off-time."  He nodded pointedly towards Claudia and Helen.

            "Look, Howard," Charlie leaned in urgently, forgetting about his earlier concerns.  Howard blinked at Charlie's use of his first name.  "I need your knowledge as a barrister.  Augustine told me you had training before joining the league."

            Sitting back down, Howard nodded as he motioned for two shots of firewhiskey.  Slamming back his share, he drew a hand across his mouth and waited for Charlie to continue.

            "A close friend of the family is a werewolf," he finally said.  He watched Howard's reaction closely.  Howard stared at him nonplussed.  "Look, he just gained permission from the Infant Wizard Protection Agency to adopt a baby, but something's going on between Walden Macnair and Margaret Lancaster—something similar to the Bristol case, and we can't make any bloody sense out of the legal documentation."

            "Macnair and Lancaster?" Howard screwed up his face in disgust.  "Crikey, how in bloody hell did he convince those nutcases to give him a baby?"

            "Listen, mate, I don't want to talk about this here."  Charlie's eyes darted around the room.  

            Howard sighed deeply and moved to shake out another fag. Charlie clamped his hand down over the pack.

            "I can't stand the bloody smoke, Whitney."

            Claudia and Helen chose that moment to come up to the boys.  "We're leaving," Claudia pouted.  "Fancy walking us down the lane a bit?" she asked invitingly while batting her long gold tinted lashes.  Howard smiled rakishly.  Standing, he shoved his Kents back into his pocket and brushed a miniscule trace of ash from his jeans.  Helen poked Claudia as she unabashedly took in his perfectly formed rear outlined by the tight material.  

"Hey, can you help me or not?" Charlie asked in angry frustration as Howard moved towards the exit.

"Yeah, sure Weasley," he called over his shoulder.  Pausing, he bent down and whispered something in Claudia's ear.  She giggled and pulled Helen outside.  

Howard strode back to the bar.  "Here," he said tossing a gold embossed business card on the table.  "I'm staying at my grandfather's."  He turned and exited the pub quickly.  

Charlie watched through the window panes as Howard caught the two pretty girls around their waists and swung them about in the cool autumn air.  He glanced down at the expensive card with its shimmering script. 

_Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_

_Robert Culpepper, Department Head_

"Well, I'll be bloody damned," Charlie breathed loudly.  

**********

            Elizabeth sat propped up against the yellow wall next to her changing station.  She batted her small hands anxiously at the white linen cap Sirius tried to place on her head.  This parenting thing was a completely new and somewhat trying experience for a man who prided himself in being able to conquer anything with ease.  He grimaced at the thought of his former housemates laughing hysterically at the sight of Sirius Black being knocked down a notch or two by a mere infant.  Quaffles, bludgers, dungbombs, melting cauldrons, Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy bound lock-legged together—these were mere child's play when compared to tackling this one-stone bundle of energy. 

            "Lizzie, c'mon.  Please cooperate," he pleaded.  He made another attempt to catch his daughter's head and missed again. 

            The stubborn little girl grabbed her right foot and tugged impatiently.  "Da da!" she cried as she proudly held out her little red patent leather shoe.  The shoe Sirius had spent a good twenty minutes trying to affix to her foot.  He sighed exasperatedly then grinned at his small daughter as he removed his wand.

            "_Impedimenta," he whispered, tapping her lightly on the forehead.  His eyes darted towards the door apprehensively as if he expected Remus to apparate from Hogwarts.  Immediately Elizabeth stilled, her violet eyes blinking in confusion._

            Nodding contentedly, Sirius placed her shoe back on her foot, snapped the buckle, and proceeded to tie the white ribbons of her cap under her chin.  He fastened her miniature red wool cloak with black cording around her little shoulders and marveled at her glowing beauty.  _And I wanted a son… He raised his wand to remove the spell but after a second glace, decided to take full advantage of her stillness.  He swung his black wool robes around his shoulders and wrapped a red scarf around his neck.    _

            "Who's my pretty little pumpkin pasty?" he cooed as he swung her rigidly in the air.  "Oops!" he cried and quickly removed the spell.  Elizabeth immediately resumed her soft squirming state and touched her head in dismay. "Shall we be off then, Lizzie?  Daddy's waiting for us at Hogwarts."              

            Balancing her on his hip, he swung her baby bag decorated jauntily with little animals over his shoulder and strode down the stairs into the front room.  He threw a pinch of floo powder into the high flames and waited patiently for the signal.  Elizabeth grabbed the collar of his cloak and proceeded to gum it enthusiastically.  Sirius reached experimentally into her mouth and felt the beginnings of two new top teeth.  He smiled with proud pleasure at how quickly she was growing.  Elizabeth quickly relinquished her hold on his cloak and began to suck eagerly on his finger.  Smiling, Sirius stepped into the flames and shouted, "Honeydukes," before they disappeared in a flash of light.

**********

            Honeyduke's vibrant multi-colored lights caused Sirius to blink furiously as he stepped gingerly out of the fireplace.  He nodded his head in greeting at the proprietor of the famous sweets shop who was quite accustomed to witches and wizards popping into his establishment via means other than the front door.  Walking briskly down the aisle, he paused momentarily next to a display of particularly impressive sugar quills, his mouth watering slightly.  

            "Just received 'em today. You're lucky it's not the weekend.  Those crazy kids from Hogwarts would've cleared 'em out otherwise."  A wizened little wizard by the name of Frewin stepped forward sporting a gap-toothed grin.  "How do you do, my little peppermint toad?" he asked in a gravelly voice as he chucked Elizabeth under the chin. 

            Elizabeth stared at him, unafraid.  Sirius glanced down at his daughter and thought with amusement that she did indeed look a bit like a peppermint sweet.  He gobbled her little rosy cheek playfully.  "Mmm… yummy, Lizzie."  Elizabeth giggled.

            His eyes caught sight of a very fine quill with a sharp chocolate tip.  Frewin nodded his head sagaciously.  "Ah, clever choice.  This fine model sports a refillable liquid chocolate center.  We sell replacement cartridges of course."

            Sirius switched Elizabeth to his other hip and picked up the quill, turning it over in his hand.  Remus had been testy all week since Charlie and Percy's visit.  Ah, chocolate… the cure-all to Remus' bad moods.  Smiling, he looked down at the little wizard.  "I'll take this one, please—oh, and could you toss in a couple extra cartridges?"  _I'll definitely need them._

            He walked up and down the aisles, his Marauder instincts thinking of all the fun he could have with the exploding bon-bons and canary creams.  The last prank he could recall pulling was the accidental explosion of the dungbombs at the baby shower.  And Sirius didn't even want to take credit for that—it certainly wasn't up to his usual standards.  Afterwards, Remus had mercilessly teased him about losing his touch.  Not as if Moony was pulling any pranks lately… Sirius wondered briefly how Fred and George we doing.  

            "Sir?"  Sirius turned to accept the brown paper parcel from the wizard.  He handed him two galleons.  

            "Thank you," he said with a last lingering look at the fudge flies before striding outdoors.

            A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and shook the bright red and gold leaves into merry dance overhead.  Elizabeth clapped in delight as a bright orange leaf fell onto Sirius' arm.  She picked it up with her plump little fingers and immediately put it in her mouth.

            "No, no—icky, Lizzie," Sirius chided.  He tried unsuccessfully to pull the leaf from her grip.  Fumbling, he reached inside his cloak for her Never-Ending Juice Binkie.  "Here, suck this why don't you?"  

            Passing witches and wizards out for a stroll in the warm autumn afternoon smiled benevolently at the picturesque image of the tall handsome wizard with the outlandish baby bag trying desperately to fish pieces of leaf from his daughter's mouth.  The little girl let out an indignant wail as the man's finger prodded none too gently.  

            Ten minutes later and finally satisfied, Sirius popped the binkie into her mouth and continued down the tree-lined lane leading up to the castle.  Glancing down at Elizabeth who stared at her surroundings with wide eyes, he began to recite a nursery rhyme his mum had sung when he was very small:

"One, two, three, four, five –  
Once I caught a fish alive.  
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten –  
Then I let it go again.  
Why did I let it go?  
Because it bit my finger so.  
Which finger did it bite?  
The little finger on the right."

            Growling, he quickly caught Elizabeth's little finger and pulled it into his mouth.  She giggled in delight, and Sirius laughed as well, his face alight with joy.  He continued down the lane and appreciatively took in the gorgeous rugged Scottish scenery.  The red- brown mountains in the background spanned the horizon, and he watched as three owls glided smoothly overhead.  As they neared the tall towers of the castle he could see off in the distance fast swishes of color streak across the blue sky.  _Ah… Quidditch practice.  His palms itched to ride a broom again, and he considered briefly taking Remus for another ride.  His trusty model was in one of the closets… perhaps he could sweeten Remus with some chocolate and the promise of a very gentle take-off.   _

            The great black ivy-covered gate opened as easily as it had back in his school-days.  He strode briskly around the lake to the large oak front doors.  Raising the heavy iron knocker, he released it with a bang.  He glanced about the front-grounds curiously and smiled knowingly as two flashes of silver and green ducked behind the shrubbery.  

            Slowly the massive front doors opened to reveal a very grim Professor McGonagall.  Sirius grinned and extended his hand in greeting.

            "My dear Professor McGonagall!" he said with flourish.

            Minerva's eyes crinkled at the edges as her normally stern look faded somewhat into a welcoming smile.  Her once black hair was now completely silver, and her world-weary face seemed to posses even deeper lines.  

            "Mr. Black," she shook his hand firmly before dropping all pretenses and tapping him quickly on the shoulder with her wand.  "Need I remind you of your manners, my dear boy?"

            Sirius laughed.  Bantering with Minerva McGonagall was one of his favorite past times—and had been since he was a student.  He smiled to think of how James and Remus had despaired over his lack of respect for the Head of their house.  

            "Minerva, it's a pleasure to see you.  It's always comforting to see you haven't changed a bit."

            She eyed him sternly.  "I trust you haven't named this poor child Eustace?"

            Sirius turned Elizabeth in his arms and smiled proudly as he made the introductions.  "Elizabeth Lupin-Black, please meet Minerva McGonagall.  She will, of course, be Professor McGonagall to you when you finally learn to speak."         

            All traces of sternness faded from her be-spectacled grey eyes.  She pocketed her wand and lifted a delicately veined hand.  "Oh, Sirius," she said kindly as she gently touched Elizabeth's rosy cheek, "she's precious."  

Straightening, she resumed her formal stance and said in a no-nonsense tone, "I despair thinking of Elizabeth at eleven with you and Mr. Lupin as parents.  Don't give me that look, Mr. Black," she said austerely when he raised his eyes innocently.  "I know quite well all the shenanigans you and your housemates managed to pull during your years here—and I don't believe for one moment that age has cured you—_either of you—of your flair for mischief."_

Sirius laughed appreciatively and followed Minerva through the doors into the entrance hall.  

"Albus and Remus are waiting for you in the tower.  The password is dungbomb."

Sirius raised his eyebrows at Dumbledore's sense of humor.  

Minerva smiled wryly.  "Yes, well, I do expect he changed the password knowing _you would find the humor in it."  She waved farewell and began her descent to the dungeon.  _

Sirius and Elizabeth had just begun the climb to the Headmaster's tower when Minerva called from below.  

"A moment, Sirius, if I may."  Minerva walked forward holding in her hands a beautiful gray striped tabby kitten.  The little animal blinked its small green eyes.  

"Tell Remus I transfigured this little creature from a piece of granite so he needn't worry himself about handling a full-grown cat.  This little kitten will remain a baby forever."  She handed the mewling little bundle of fur to Elizabeth who pulled it closely to her chest.

Sirius was speechless at Minerva's thoughtfulness.  She had remembered Remus' dislike of grown animals—or rather, grown animals dislike of Remus.  He nodded slowly and said somberly, "Thank you, Minerva.  I am certain Remus will wish to thank you personally."

Minerva nodded briskly and patted Elizabeth on the head.  "She's beautiful, Sirius.  Please have the courtesy to not turn her into a miniature Marauder."

Smiling, Sirius resumed his long climb to the tower.  He passed walls of familiar portraits waving merrily at him, noticed with glee that the statue the Marauders had crashed into one fateful night was still missing the tip of its nose, and smiled nostalgically at the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower.  The closer he was to the Headmaster's tower, the quicker his humor faded as he wondered what news Dumbledore had for them.

Stopping next to the statue of the gargoyle, he spoke the password, "Dungbomb."  The secret door swung open and he walked inside, stepping quickly onto the spiral staircase that moved slowly up towards Dumbledore's chambers.              


	10. The Twisted Maze That is Life

Chapter 10

            Remus glanced up anxiously from his book at a large time piece hanging over the fireplace.  The smooth pearl face was covered with assorted images of golden snitches, purple-robed witches, and owls that whizzed and flashed different colors.  It was beyond a doubt, the oddest clock he had ever seen.  He didn't recall seeing it during his last visit and wondered briefly where Dumbledore had acquired it.  Peering closely at the many dials, he determined the time to be just past half past four.      

            Sirius was late.  Punctuality wasn't one of his strong points, and despite promises of trying harder, Sirius inevitably strolled in on his own time.  Normally, Remus didn't bother to become upset over this infraction, but suddenly he was extremely annoyed that his partner didn't have the consideration to at least make an effort.  _Testy testy…    _

Remus flipped through the pages restlessly.  Coming to Hogwarts had done little to alleviate his anxiety.  As soon as Dumbledore had been apprised of the situation, he immediately pulled out all of the student rosters for the past century.  The two men poured over the names of the parents, searching for the mandatory Ministry mark; the mark included with every werewolf signature.  There were only a handful of names, five to be exact.  

Charlie's message flashed in Remus' mind.  "The Bristol werewolf's name was Dietmar Huber."

And there was his name.  Dietmar Huber, deceased guardian of sixteen year old Ravenclaw, Christian Huber.  

After comparing the Hogwarts' rosters and the Ministry ledger, it appeared that all of the remaining werewolf parents in Great Britain had gone into seclusion.  Remus pinched the bridge of nose.  He felt frustrated beyond belief, for while Margaret and Macnair were quickly gaining strength on their side, he was running in constant circles.  _I need access to the Ministry files… particularly the trial transcripts, he thought agitatedly.  Strumming his fingers, he re-read the names on the ledger from the Ministry.  _

            _Mary McAllister.  __Interesting, he thought, Dietmar Huber pushed aside for the moment.  Werewolf mothers were extremely rare and took incredible risks just to bring their child into the world.  He was rather amazed the Ministry sanctioned the birth instead of putting a stop to it prematurely.  __Unless, he mused, __she never visited a MediWizard…  He shivered at the agony Mary must have endured.  Scrolling down the list, he noticed that in the last century, she was the only werewolf to give birth.  The rest of the names on the list were men.     _

            "Albus," Remus began, frowning at Mary's name and the year of the birth.  "It says here that in October of 1940, Mary McAllister gave birth to a daughter lycanthropy-free.  She obviously managed to escape Section 1521."  He ran his eyes down the page.  "Plus, there's no notation of either of their deaths, so they have to be alive somewhere…"

            Dumbledore eyes narrowed.  "October 1940… ah, Remus, she was born during the Battle of Britain.  It would have been easy for the Ministry to overlook the birth of her child."  

            "Overlooked or didn't care?  The birth of her daughter is noted in the ledger."

            "Perhaps someone notified the Registry after the fact.  Most of the Ministry during this time was engaged in assisting the Royal Air Force.  You have to remember that the Wizarding community was not untouched by the Blitz."  

            Dumbledore's words affected him deeply.  How frightened the poor woman must have been.  Not only did she have to conceal her lycanthropy, but she was also pregnant and hiding from the Ministry during wartime.  Remus' grandmama had kept a photo journal from the war, and whenever his mother dropped him off at her flat for the afternoon, he would spend hours watching the tiny little battle scenes.  Muggle warfare was certainly innovative—and very fascinating to a child whose parents tried to shelter him from the unpleasantness in life.  In fact, Elizabeth would have abhorred her mother's judgment in allowing a three year old to witness such destruction.  

Remus smiled as he remembered how the older woman who always smelled strongly of camphor had showed him a hidden latch in her truck best for hiding things from one's mother.  It wasn't the blood and death that enthralled him, those he could well do without, but rather the mechanisms employed as flying machines dropped bombs from the sky and created piles of rubble where buildings used to stand.  He had once thought his grandmama that bravest woman in the world when she showed him a jagged scar running the length of her calf.  She had brushed it off with a tinkle of a laugh, yanked her skirt in place, and picked up her tiny army figurine who was sulking under his helmet.  He never saw the scar again, and soon after his fourth birthday she had died, but in her will she had left her trunk to him.  To this day, no one knew of the existence of the album.      

And here was another woman who had lived through the same nightmare, had witnessed the same destruction of life, and he felt such remorse for creating childish fantasies out of their struggles.  He thought of an army helmet he had fashioned from a crinkled tin pot and of toy soldiers silenced in the bottom of the trunk.  Perhaps it had been the only way in which his grandmama had been able to live with the memories—by seeing the events through the wide-eyed innocence of a child—a child who thought her the most amazing woman in the world.   

How Mary must have feared for the safety of her child.  "I want to talk with Mary, Albus.  I need to understand why she wasn't targeted—how she escaped repercussion from Section 1521, and why—" he stopped abruptly.

            "Why she is still alive and the Bristol werewolf was executed," Dumbledore finished.  He watched Remus closely.

            "Yes, that.  I _have to understand, Albus.  You don't understand," he whispered, "I'm slowly going mad.  I have all this hurt built up here—right in here—and it just presses and presses against me.  I can't sleep for thinking."  He felt awkward speaking from the heart, but he realized that where his family was concerned, he couldn't afford to close himself off.  Night after restless night had passed, his mind a cyclone of horrid images and frightening voices: Sirius' cries of anguish, Elizabeth's tear-stained face, the evil satisfied glint in Margaret's eyes… and the cold steel blade of Macnair's axe.  After waking in a cold sweat, Remus had quickly penned a note telling Sirius he was taking a few days off to visit Dumbledore.  He asked Sirius to bring Elizabeth to Hogwarts on the third day.       _

            Remus stared at the stained glass windows lining the tower.  Sunlight filtered through the multi-colored panes and colored the dull gray stone floor.  He admitted to himself that he came to Hogwarts partly in search of a reprieve from his nightmares and from the constant worried look in Sirius' eyes.  His body was but a shell of himself, and he found it far easier to walk the halls with the silent presence of the ghosts as company than to pace between the rooms of the cottage where expectant watchful eyes watched him from every corner—always wanting to talk.  But now, three days later, he felt incredibly lonely and wished for the comforting warmth of his lover's arms.       

Dumbledore cleared his throat and rolled up a long piece of purple-feathered parchment entitled "A Study of Werewolf Physiology".  He tied it securely with a length of gold string and placed it atop an already precarious pile of similar essays.  

"Well," he said in smoothly modulated tones, "it appears, Remus, that lycanthropy can be passed down from parent to child."

Remus paled.  "I knew that."

Dumbledore smiled sadly.  "Mary's child is very fortunate.  It's amazing she survived the pregnancy.  What is her name, may I ask?"

"Bridget.  Her mother named her Bridget," Remus paused as a troubling thought crossed his mind.  "Do you suppose, Albus, that this ledger is completely accurate?"  Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.  "If what you say is true, then certainly all the births couldn't have resulted in lycanthropy-free children."

"When the ledger records the cause of death, does it specify it for both parent and child?" 

Remus glanced quickly at the ledger.  "It only gives the date of death for the parent.  You're not thinking…"  A stunned silence ensued.  He swallowed quickly.  "They kill them, don't they?" he whispered.  "They execute the children born cursed."  His chair scraped gratingly against the stone floor.  A muscle worked spasmodically in his jaw as he ground his teeth.  A fury unlike any he had ever known raged inside of him, boiling his blood.

"That's it," he spun around, ire burning from his molten gold eyes.  "Sirius said that he and Charlie and Hermione couldn't understand why so many werewolves weren't able to raise their children.  They weren't even given a chance to _be parents.  The Ministry records their names and their birthdays but leave off the date of their deaths to conceal this atrocity."  Trembling, he realized he was shouting. _

Dumbledore quickly moved to stand in front of the emotion-wracked man.  "Remus," he said quietly, "listen to me.  Right now we have to concentrate on helping you and Elizabeth.  We can't bring those children back to life.  Remus—" he laid fragile wrinkled hands on the other man's trembling shoulders.  "Think of your daughter.  If you have to, Remus, think of the other children out there that need a hero—you can offer them hope."

Remus' lips twisted.  "I used to think I understood Harry's upset over being considered the hero, the Boy-Who-Lived… but now…" his voice trailed off.  "I've got to do this, Albus, don't I?  Too many children have died at the Ministry's hand.  It's fucking barbaric."  He turned away, his shoulders shaking.  

"Is it any more barbaric than executing grown werewolves?"

"Sweet Merlin, _no.  Grown werewolves can learn to exercise control and restraint.  Children don't know the difference yet.  They have to learn—to be taught.  It's one thing to prevent a pregnancy, it's another matter all together to kill an already born child," Remus snarled._

"Yes, I thought you would feel that way, Remus.  So," he said carefully, "you don't think that werewolves should have children?"

Remus' throat felt tight.  "It's not that simple.  That's a very generalized statement you make, Albus.  It's as if saying all humans should be parents simply because they posses the biological tools."  He took several steps across the room and turned.  "I wouldn't wish this on even my worst enemy.  I agree with Section 1521 to a degree, I suppose… but there is a difference between procreating and parenting.  I would _never risk having a biological child of my own, but that can't prevent me from loving a child."_

"And if you should bite the child yourself?"

"Albus!  You suggest that I cannot exercise restraint at all!  There are precautions—potions—a million steps that can shield from Elizabeth from me—"

"But nothing is guaranteed."

"Certainly not," Remus bit out, "but there is no guarantee that _anyone of us couldn't suddenly snap and do something that goes against our very principles.  You still speak of generalities.  I speak of specifics.  This is not so much a battle about my parenting skills but about my rights as a human being, and according to Lancaster and Macnair I don't have either.  It's about whether or not for the 29 to 30 days of the month that I am free from this creature that runs through my blood, I am actually a man.  It's about bigotry.  There is no rationalization about this, Albus."  Remus jerked his finger towards the window.  "Out there—out there the majority of the world __hates me, fears me, and blindly categorizes me.  And for __what?  I have my lycanthropy under control!  Who are they to dictate whether I deserve to live?"         
        _

A single iridescent tear slid down his cheek and fell to the floor. 

"I've always wanted a child, Albus.  I've dreamt of it actually.  Silly of me, I know, but when I was small I remember wanting nothing more than a younger sibling—and I _knew—I knew why my parents never had another child.  It was because of me.  Because __I was cursed they lost all hope of ever having a grandchild.  So you see?  I've always had this hole in me… a gap of sorts… and as I became a young man I realized with such amazing futility that I never would be able to have a child—for so many reasons.  Reasons stacked upon reasons none of which make sense together but are complete on their own. And then, you see, Sirius came back to me and suddenly I thought if __that were possible, if this god that I never gave a second thought to could grant me this one gift, then why could I not ask him for another?  After all, it's not as if I've pestered him with trivial matters all these years.  So I allowed myself to think of a child… just in my own mind… it took me three years to share this with Sirius—my Sirius who was never really receptive to the small people in the world."_

Dumbledore was silent.  

"But you know the ironic part of this?  Sirius was overjoyed.  It was a chance for the two of us to finally start something off on the right foot, and he grasped the idea and ran with it.  It started off with a request to the Ministry followed up by pleas… but you know all this.  Did he tell you how upset I was when he bought wallpaper for the nursery?  No?  Well I saw it as a slap in the face because I never dreamt that the decree would come down.  I _hated him for a moment, Albus, and I've never hated him before—not even when I thought he was guilty—because I knew… I just __knew.  But this!  This deliberate attack on my emotions… I had forgotten how strong my longing was.  Elizabeth __fulfills me, Albus.  She completes me in a way no one will ever be able to.  This dream of mine finally came true, and for once I forgot about the person I am today and thought only of myself in the past.  And I was whole."_

He stood tall, proud, defiant—and yet, vulnerable.      

"I still don't see how I can convince them that we're human…  It's a futile battle, Albus, you know that."

"Perhaps that's not the only way to solve this problem."  

Remus started slightly at the change in the older wizard's tone.  

"If you fight this battle centered on proving your humanity, I am afraid we're all going to be searching for an Elixir of Life to last us through to the end.  If, however, you attack it from a slightly different angle… one which deals with love and faith and emotions…" Dumbledore smiled warmly at Remus.

Slowly the twitch in his jaw lessoned.  "Macnair and Margaret _are rather heartless, hm?"  A trace of a smile touched his lips.  "There will be a panel of jurors…"_

"Yes and perhaps we can do something about that as well."  Merry blue eyes twinkled.  "Not," he added quickly at Remus' surprised look, "what you think.  It wouldn't be ethical to fix the jury, eh Remus?"

_Ethics… Yes, indeed.  We can certainly play their game, Remus thought, feeling the first burst of optimism since the whole mess had begun.  __To win we'll have to use their very tools against them…_

Dumbledore nodded as Remus began to comprehend his meaning.  Turning towards a garishly painted tea set, he flicked his wand gracefully and sighed in satisfaction as scones and miniature cucumber sandwiches appeared on the tray.  A darling little pot of strawberry jaw bumped into the cream.    

            "Tea, Remus?"  He straightened the teetering pitcher and added tea leaves to the pot.  The heady warm aroma drifted through the air.

            Remus' stomach growled in response.  "Thank you, I'd be delighted."  He took off his reading glasses and began to move aside stacks of dusty books and several fat pots of ink.  Quills with broken nibs were banished to the waste bin.  "Would you mind terribly, Albus, if I opened the window a bit?"

            "Not at all.  I could use a bit of fresh air." 

            The lead frames pushed open easily.  A rush of excited voices drifted upwards.  "Ah… it's close to Halloween.  I had quite forgotten."  Remus could detect faint traces of smoke drifting from the bonfire beyond Hagrid's hut.  It had been years since he had experienced autumn at Hogwarts.  The Scottish landscape was glorious in all its untamed beauty—far different from the coastal line of southern England.  Even the Forbidden Forest adapted a new tone with the coming of cooler weather.  The denseness of the foliage seemed broken up by the wash of primary colors, and there was a rich spicy aroma floating on the air.  Unintelligible shouts drifted from the Quidditch pitch, broken up by the occasional crack of a bat hitting the iron Bludger.          

Dumbledore joined Remus at the window.  A slight breeze ruffled his long gray beard.  "I'm glad the wind has died down.  I can think of very few things worse than being cooped up in a stuffy tower that shakes and rattles on its own."  He winked at the younger man.

Remus opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by an exalted cry.

"Splendid!" Dumbledore clapped his hands in delight.  "There is nothing I enjoy more than the sight of a good harvest."  Several students pushed large wheelbarrows packed full of orange-red pumpkins across the grounds.  Professor Sprout followed, her arms laden with an assortment of rainbow-colored gourds.  Hearing the Headmaster voice, she looked up at the tower and waved merrily.  

"Move along, now," she ordered, her voice rising faintly through the window.  "Professor Flitwick's expecting these--Miss MacCulloch!  Kindly remove yourself from the wheelbarrow and _help Mr. Lacey…"    _

Remus chucked, as flashbacks of his days as a professor came to mind.  "I've forgotten how incorrigible these youngsters are."

A smile touched with a trace of sorrow lingered on Dumbledore's lips.  "I'm thankful that these students have the opportunity to _be young.  So many of our students were lost during the war or were forced to age far too quickly."  His eyes followed the troop of pumpkin-bearers into the castle.  Remus knew instinctively he was thinking of Harry.  _

"Ah… but the tea…I digress."  He returned to the table and graciously asked Remus to pour.

            Smooth golden liquid flowed through the strainer into porcelain cups.  "Cream, sugar, or lemon, sir?"

            Dumbledore yawned lightly.  "Just lemon for me, please. Thank you, Remus."  He spread a healthy portion of strawberry jam onto his scone and took a bite.  "Mmm… delightful. There was an uprising the last time I swiped all the jam from the kitchen.  Minerva in her tartan nightdress brandishing her wand is something even I manage to avoid."  He laughed in delight and leaned forward in confidence, "She still thinks a student is responsible for pinching all the jam despite Dobby's protests to the contrary."

            Remus' eyes crinkled in appreciation.  He raised his cup to his lips and sipped the sweet beverage.  Three cucumber sandwiches soon followed.  Smiling apologetically, he said lightly, "The week or so preceding the full moon leaves me frightfully hungry, I'm afraid."   

            Three scones and two cucumber sandwiches later, Remus patted his stomach contentedly.  "Albus, how well do you know Christian Huber?"

            "Christian Huber?  He's a six-year Ravenclaw.  If I recall correctly, he's quite bright—somewhat shy—not like certain other students in my memory."  Dumbledore refilled their cups, steam rising gently.

            "His guardian was Dietmar Huber, the Bristol werewolf." 

            "Yes… It's been years since the incident happened."  Dumbledore mused.  "When Christian first arrived I pulled him aside to speak with him briefly.  I didn't address the issue for fear of opening freshly healed wounds."  Remus nodded in agreement.  "Christian progressed slowly.  Over the years he has managed to make a few close friends and excel at his studies.  Professor Vector in particular says Christian shines in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

            Remus smiled.  He felt something akin to empathy spark inside.  The brilliant young man had years of opportunity available to him, and while he might outwardly appear to have adjusted to life, Remus wasn't fooled.  Scars burned deep had their way of resurfacing in the most inopportune moments.  Perhaps that was why Christian excelled in classes based on concepts of logic and mathematics.  Every problem had an explanation that could be explained based on principles and theorems no matter how complex.  _Quite contrary to life, Remus thought dryly._

            "How much harm do you think I might cause if I asked him questions about his uncle?" Remus worried.

            Dumbledore banished the tea service with a flick of his wand.  "Perhaps no more harm than Christian has caused himself by concealing his emotions all these years."        

            "If you think it wise that I don't speak with him…"

            "I cannot make that decision for you, Remus, or for Christian.  Christian must choose to speak with you on his own terms.  To force him to confide in you, that I cannot do."  Dumbledore's eyes were weary.

            Remus knew Dumbledore spoke the truth.  Christian would be of no help if he were forced to cooperate.  

            "I can, however, arrange for Mr. Huber to meet with us tomorrow morning," Dumbledore continued.  

            "Thank you," Remus said humbly.  

            A muffled thump on the other side of the door broke the silence.           

            Raising his eyebrows, Dumbledore opened the door, pale blue eyes twinkling down at the comical sight.  Sirius was squatting on the floor, one arm gripping Elizabeth's tummy and the other reaching out to grab hold of the kitten.  Neither baby seemed at all interested in cooperating.  Elizabeth's bonnet hung haphazardly by its strings, and her robes and dress had managed to work their way up around her armpits.  The tiny kitten mewled pitifully as Sirius struggled to get a firm grip on the back of its neck.

            "Come here!  Bloody kitten... Minerva's going to hear from me… bollocks…  Gotcha now!  Where do you think you're off to?  Hmm?"  Sirius raised the little bundle of fluff to his face and rubbed his cheek against the furry softness.  "Unless you want Padfoot to come out and play, let's try to listen, shall we?"  

Triumphant, Sirius stood and blew back locks of hair tumbling across his forehead.  "Albus, it's wonderful to see you."    

If Dumbledore thought it odd that Sirius was almost bested by a kitten and a wee sized child he kept those thoughts to himself.  He simply opened the door further and welcomed the party inside.  

Sirius entered the room and smiled at Remus.  Remus' eyes widened slightly at Elizabeth's new toy but said nothing.  

"Now… who do we have here?"  Dumbledore appraised Elizabeth.  He was encouraged by her bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and small mouth that was in the process of forming a smile at the sight of Remus.   He nodded his approval.  He had no reservations whatsoever about Elizabeth's well-being in the hands of these two men.  

Remus placed a soft kiss on Elizabeth's hair.  "Hello, Lizzie."  His hand caressed her cheek, and she turned and nuzzled his forearm.  He placed a chaste kiss on Sirius' smooth cheek, grinning at Sirius' pout.  

"I see she's quite taken with both of you.  She clearly has been blessed with the fortunate gift of good taste."  Dumbledore smiled widely.  "Elizabeth Lupin-Black.  It's a good strong name.  One she won't be ashamed of."  He held out his arms.  "May I?  I confess to having a soft spot for babies."

Sirius couldn't stop grinning.  Clearly Dumbledore had heard of Eustace.  He placed Elizabeth in his arms.  

The Headmaster rocked her with seasoned expertise, and Remus realized guiltily that he had never bothered to find out if Dumbledore had a family of his own.  "Ah… I've forgotten the simple joy in holding something so small."

Remus glanced hesitantly at the kitten in Sirius' arms.  "Sirius?"

Sirius tore his eyes from his daughter.  Dumbledore's head was bent as he whispered words in a foreign tongue.  Elizabeth watched him in rapt fascination.  

Closing the small space between them, Sirius pressed himself against Remus' side.  "Yeah, Moony?"

"The kitten?  Where did you find it?"

"It's a gift from Minerva."

Remus was startled.  "But surely Minerva remembers the uh—er dislike animals have for me?"

Sirius balanced the small cat in the palm of his hand and held it out for Remus to examine.  "She transformed him from a piece of granite.  It's okay, he'll never age.  Therefore he'll never learn to fear you.  Just Padfoot."  He barked mischievously, and the kitten mewled in protest.  Remus nodded quickly, gratitude overcoming him.

Dumbledore finished his quiet words and turned towards the two men.  "Shall we?"

He carefully placed Elizabeth on a raised stone pillar he had conjured into the center of the room.  The smooth marble surface was speckled with purples and blues, and a quick sticking spell was executed so the baby couldn't tumble from her perch.  

Elizabeth blinked curious eyes at the three men standing about her.  Sirius carefully removed her bonnet and robes and stepped back.    

Dumbledore placed a withered red rose in her lap.  He, too, moved back and raised a barrier around the child.  The three men watched with bated breath as several uneventful minutes passed.  Remus and Sirius exchanged surprised glances as Elizabeth made no move to put the flower in her mouth.  To their left, Dumbledore waited patiently.

Long minutes later, a transformation began to take place.

"Ah…" Dumbledore whispered.  "I had hoped for this."   

A swirling mist of sparkling dust rose from the flower.  Before their very eyes the red-brown petals slowly turned a deep violet.  One by one, the petals broke away from the stem and floated upwards, dissolving into gold dust.  The little girl continued to hold the stem in a tight fist.  

Slowly the golden dust spiraled downwards and realigned itself into the form of the original petals.  Each one molded back to the stem, changing from gold to violet to red.        

"What's happening?" Sirius whispered his eyes wide with surprise.  

Dumbledore shook his head.  "Have you ever noticed whether Elizabeth has the ability to move items at will?"

"She can imitate wind and manipulate wave patterns in her bath," Remus whispered, transfixed.        

Sirius was nervous.  He had no idea what just happened, and despite the beauty of what he just saw, he felt deep currents of apprehension.  How was it possible for his six-month old daughter to do _that?  He nudged Remus, who brushed him aside impatiently.  _

"Shush, Padfoot," he whispered.  "Just watch.  It's a form of ancient magic. Albus was explaining it to me last night…"     

Ancient magic or not, Sirius was still nervous.

"Look, Remus and Sirius… levitation…"  Dumbledore drank in the vision before him.  

Elizabeth's hands had released the flower.  The bloom slowly spiraled its way in front of her, spinning at a measured pace.  Her eyes followed the movement, her little lips puckered in concentration.  Slowly the flower settled in her lap, the petals restored to their original brilliancy.  Dumbledore nodded and removed the barrier.  

Sirius rushed forward and scooped up his daughter.  He pressed her cool cheek against his own flushed face and laughed grumpily when she pushed at him.  "Oh, Lizzie, let Daddy hold you for a minute… he needs this…"

Remus patted Sirius on the back.  "Scared, Padfoot?" he teased.

Sirius growled.  His daughter resumed sucking on his collar.  He worked his finger between the fabric and her mouth and offered his thumb to her.  

"Is your finger clean?" Remus frowned.  

Dumbledore laughed.  He came forward and tapped Elizabeth on her head with his wand.  She tilted her head backwards and arched against Sirius' arm.  Blue eyes met with violet, and they both stared for long moments.  "You have a very special daughter.  I've only read about children like her."  

"Well, it's no wonder she scared her mother—just imagine a muggle having to deal with levitating regenerating objects!" Sirius laughed sharply.  Remus pressed a kiss on his cheek.  

"You were scared, too, Sirius," he reminded him gently.  

"Damn right I was, Remus!  Crikey, just look at what she can do!  She's only a baby."  His voice was gruff with emotion.  Sirius certainly had no intention of crying, but for some disconcerting reason, he was unable to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"She has unique talents, I'll give you that.  Albus," Remus interrupted the staring contest.  "What does this mean for Elizabeth as she grows up?  How does she do this?"

Dumbledore rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.  "I believe Elizabeth has the ability to alter physical matter through emphatic measures.  She could feel the rose dying and consequently was able to alter its physical state.  As for the water… she was able to sense its currents and thus alter the flow."

"Is she a healer?" asked Remus.

Dumbledore shook his head.  "Healers cannot alter matter in the way she is able to.  People like Elizabeth have a deep connection with humans, plants, animals, water—anything with a spiritual mass.  It's a precious gift—but one that must be reigned in tightly and taught to be controlled.  Elizabeth becomes part of a cycle with each object she touches, and thusly she can use her powers to wield terrible things."

Sirius stared at the baby in his arms.  He blinked one, twice, then licked his lips anxiously.  Elizabeth smiled up at him and struggled to get down.  Placing her gently on the floor, he straightened and glanced at Remus.  Remus was staring at Dumbledore as if the Headmaster had grown two heads.

"Our daughter?" Remus managed.  He watched as Elizabeth took off her shoes.

Sirius found his voice.  "How do we teach her if we don't even understand what she is?"  

            "I'll give you the books I read in preparation for today.  I believe you'll just have to take it one step at a time."  Dumbledore smiled reassuringly at the two men.  "She's still small so you needn't worry about her setting fire to your house."

            Sirius blanched.  Thoughts of the _Daddy's Guide to Tantrums ran through his head.  "Elizabeth can control fire?"_

            Low laughter rang through the room.  Elizabeth looked up in surprise and waved her bare feet in the air.  Dumbledore thumped Sirius on the shoulder.  "Come, don't think about that.  Chances are she'll cause a flood before a fire."  He walked to the table and adjusted his robe comfortably.  "Sirius, Remus, please… come sit.  If you want to speak with Mary and Bridget, Remus, we need to formulate a plan to locate them."   

**********

            Darkness crept stealthily across the moor, covering the barren landscape with dark shadows.  Long haunting wails pierced through cracks in the thick stone walls.  Inside the nursery, Cecilia continued to fold freshly laundered nappies, her attuned senses able to distinguish between the wind and an infant's cry.  Her hands methodically completed her task.  Shake. Fold. Flip. Fold. Stack.  Over and over.  

She no longer hummed as she worked.      

At precisely half past six, Genevieve entered the room, lighted the lamps and drew the curtains.  As she watched Cecilia work, she decided to speak to her friend that evening to ferret out what was troubling her. 

The rattling of metal hooks against the curtain rods woke baby Hugh, his angry cries quickly disturbing the silence of the room.  He waved small fists in the air and shrieked when neither girl moved.  

Genevieve caught the slight stiffening of Cecilia's back.  Tucking away her wand, she walked briskly to the crib and picked up Hugh.  "Hush now…"  She rocked him gently and brushed away his tears with the pad of her thumb.  "What is it, Hugh?" she crooned as he continued to wail.  "What's wrong?  You can't be hungry…"

When the baby showed no sign of calming, Genevieve turned to Cecilia in concern.  "Cecilia, there something wrong with—Cecilia?"  She glanced quickly about the room.  Frowning, she walked to the door and noticed with a start that it was slightly ajar.  She peered into the hall.  Cecilia was nowhere in sight.

**********

            Cecilia dashed down the hall, dodging into the shadows at the slightest sound.  Her very nerves were raw.  Ever since she had agreed to this assignment she was a mess.  A complete and utter mess.  She glanced down the empty corridor to her left and pressed up against the wall as the familiar sound of Margaret's footsteps clicked on the cold tile.  She peeked carefully and sighed with relief at the sight of her long black cloak.  Margaret was finally leaving for the evening.

            Cecilia waited a few extra minutes to be certain Margaret had left the premise.  For the past month, Margaret had begun to disappear every Wednesday leaving no notice as to her whereabouts.  The general atmosphere of the IWPA relaxed noticeably during these absences, and after figuring out Margaret's schedule, Cecilia decided now was as good of a time as ever to make a sojourn to her office.  After running a few extra meters, she skidded to a full stop as a faint swishing sound grew louder.  While her heart pounded frantically, she managed to breathe in a sigh of relief as she watched Matthews turn the corner, his back to her as he slowly ran a mop along the floor.  At this precise moment, she wished fervently that she could strangle Charlie Weasley for convincing her to stay at the IWPA and act as their eyes and ears.       

            Matthews' mop flopped with a splash.  His long, muscular arms effortlessly moved the wooden handle, his strokes smooth and precise.  She stared as his long angular fingers deftly twisted away the excess water and wondered what else he might twist with equal ease.  His bristled gray hair stood up on end, and his slightly stooped back belied his hidden strength. Cecilia wasn't afraid of him, per se, but his brute power made her apprehensive should he catch her outside Margaret's office.  

            A thundering clanging echoed through the hall that nearly threw her to her knees.  Low cursing could be heard as Matthews bent down to retrieve the fallen mop.  Straightening, he pushed the bucket down the hall, the wheels squeaking over the smooth tile.  

            Her chest heaved as if she had run laps around the building.  Pressing forward, she crept to the door.  She pulled out a wrinkled list of disarming charms Remus had kindly written down for her.  _Might as well start with the first one, she thought in nervous apprehension.  _

            "_Alohomora," she whispered.  Nothing happened, but as she hadn't really expected the door to fly open on the first try she wasn't disheartened. _

            "_Dissendium."  The door didn't budge an inch._

            After executing several more unsuccessful unlocking spells, Cecilia nearly stamped her foot in frustration.  Her hands clenched as thoughts of how good it would feel to strangle Charlie Weasley rushed through her mind.  Frowning, she scrolled down to the last word on the list.  "This better work…" she mumbled.  Lifting her wand, she traced the shape of the door before pointing directly at the knob.  "_Patesco."_

            A shimmering golden band of light outlined the door.  Thanking Remus profusely, she threw a quick precautionary glance over her shoulder.  The corridor was empty, and for once she thanked the stars that Margaret insisted the blinds be closed at all times.  Carefully she pushed open the door and crept into the empty office.  Heavy drapes covered the windows, and the fireplace lay empty and cold.  The faint light from the end of her wand illuminated the immediate area around her and created long, eerie shadows over the floor.  Creeping over to Margaret's desk, she quickly scanned the surface not quite certain what she was looking for.  

            Shivering, she flipped aside various ledgers and IWPA forms.  "Fancy a trip into Margaret's office, Cecilia?" she said imitating Charlie's voice.  

            A sharp hoot from the corner jarred the silence, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.  Margaret's owl followed her movements with beady yellow eyes that glowed in the dark.  Her spine took on a life of its own as icy chills danced up and down.  "Bloody bird," she whispered angrily.  She desperately hoped he wasn't in cohorts with his mistress.  Leaning forward, she began pulling on desk drawers.  Smiling smugly, she gained easy access, as Margaret clearly didn't feel the need to place locking charms on her desk.  

            The first drawer slid open soundlessly.  Cecilia scanned the contents and ran her hand along the edging.  Wizards and witches were notorious for implementing concealing charms, and she didn't put it aside Margaret to resort to a bit of trickery.  Two unsuccessful hours later, she tried to open the slender drawer at the top of the desk used primarily to hold quills and blotters.                 

            "Bollocks," she bit out in frustration when the drawer refused to budge.  A simple _Alohomora unlocked the latch. "At least something works the first time…"  Frowning, she peered closer, rotating her wand to search the corners.  Speechless, she collapsed into the chair.  Running her hand experimentally under the desk where her knees should go, she came across an invisible barrier that extended several inches below the supposed drawer bottom.  She stared, her hands twitching nervously.  __Surely it couldn't be, she breathed in astonishment.  _

            She had found Margaret's Pensieve. 

**********

            In another part of England, things were progressing at decidedly different rate.  Hermione crawled out from under her desk and blew back a loose strand of hair.  "I can't find it, Ron.  I'm telling you.  It was here last night."  She stood and yanked open each drawer for the hundredth time.  "I put it in this one—and I _know I locked my desk."_

            Ron flipped through a pile of papers on her couch.  Hermione looked at him crossly.  "Be careful with those, will you?"

            Shooting her an exasperated look brought on by the lateness of the hour, Ron carefully scanned the shelves.  "Right.  Who besides Morgan has access to your office when you're out?"

            The top of the desk lay cluttered with a mix of parchment rolls, books, quills, and writing tablets.  Her elbow knocked over an open pot of ink.  "That's it," she snapped as the black mess pooled out in glossy rivulets.  "I don't allow people to enter here without permission."

            "And did you check to make sure there wasn't an unlocking charm on the door?"

            "Do you take me for a mad idiot, Ron?  Of course I checked.  I checked ten times already!  And yes, I made sure the alarm system hadn't been tampered with."       

            "Hermione, then I don't see how the book could have disappeared.  Unless someone apparated—"

            "Ron.  People can't apparate into this wing of the Ministry.  You know that."

            "Then explain to me using your ever superior logic how the book disappeared from your office."

            "Sod off, Ron," she muttered under her breath.

            Ron's cheeks blazed as red as his hair.  _Sod off? His eyes narrowed as anger pooled inside.  "Bloody hell, Hermione.  Do you have to take everything so personally?"  He stomped to the doorway, his robes swishing angrily.  "Ollivander's expecting me back.  We're to inventory the stock tonight.  Calm down, will you?  Crikey, you're driving me mad.  I've only been trying to help." _

            "Well, you haven't been very logical about it, have you?" Hermione snorted.  "You aren't listening to me.  I've told you people can't apparate here—and there's no way someone came in here without my knowing!"

            "Yeah, I know.  You've only been yelling this for the past hour.  But logic doesn't seem to play a role in this mystery." Ron felt his anger ebb away at the frantic look on his wife's face.  He approached Hermione hesitantly.  "Hermione—" he began slowly.  

            She patted his forearm awkwardly.  "I know, Ron… I _know.  But this book—it may be the key to helping Remus, and I __hate the thought that people want to kill him," she spat angrily, brushing away an errant tear impatiently._

            "Has Remus even received official word from Lancaster or Macnair?"

            Hermione shook her head.  "You know he hasn't.  Those bastards don't work that way.  Percy said they just spring their attack by delivering the summons."

            Ron pulled his wife into his arms and squeezed her against his tall frame.  He was somewhat shocked at her language but understood certain situations necessitated it.  Hermione burrowed her face into the softness of his robes.

            "What are you doing?" she mumbled after a minute.

            "Can't a man kiss his wife?" he asked in amusement as he nudged her chin up.

            "Oh—oh, well… I guess…"

            "Hermione?" he whispered against her lips.  

            "What?"

            "Can you please shut up for a moment?" Hermione blushed to the tips of her hair as Ron kissed her lovingly with the patience of a much-tried man.

            Long moments later, Hermione sat next to her husband on the couch, her head tucked under his chin.  Ron's long arms were wrapped securely about her slight frame.

            "Explain to me why this book is so important."

            Sighing, Hermione stared morosely into the fire.  "It's not really a book.  It's the court transcripts from the Bristol werewolf's hearing.  Morgan found it for me.  And no one knows I have it, Ron." She glanced cautiously up at him as if gauging his reaction to her next words.

            "Have you read it?" he asked evenly.

            "I didn't have a chance to yet.  But if Lancaster or Macnair discover I have it—"

            Ron drew back in disbelief.  _What in God's name could his wife be thinking to allow herself to become a possible target in this whole mess?  He suddenly wanted to shake some sense into her.  _

            Hermione frowned at Ron's dark look, her hair tumbling about her shoulders as he shook her.  "This is Remus we're discussing, Ron.  Remus' very life depends on his friends, and in the end, I am afraid his _friends are all that will stand between him and a warrant for his death."_

            "Hermione, this is bloody axe-wielding _Macnair you're talking about.  You of all people know what he's capable of—and not just to the people with the death warrant over their heads!  He's a ruthless son-of-a-bitch.  __Jesus, Hermione, do you never stop to think?"_

            She jerked back from him as if he had slapped her.  "You wouldn't be saying this if we were talking about Harry."  

            "This situation is different, Hermione!  Harry's not a werewolf."  

            The single word hung heavily in the room, bringing back memories of another time Ron had yelled out the word "werewolf."

            "Sirius and Remus will hardly allow anything to happen to _any of us.  Besides, the only person I'm worried about is Remus," she told him with unusual quietness.  "None of that matters to me.  Nor should it matter to you."_

            Ron climbed to his feet and moved to the door.  "Ollivander will be wondering where I am."  He wasn't ready to apologize for something he had yet to come to terms with.    

            Hermione gave him a closed look.  She watched as he left and slowly brought a finger to her lips.  Sighing, she began to pace.  As she took another turn about the room, the corner of her eye caught sight of a flash of red fabric caught in the top drawer.  Rushing forward, she yanked it out.  _Ministry Elves… and suddenly she remembered yesterday's tea._

**********

            Remus crawled tiredly into the large four-poster bed and plumped the pillows to his satisfaction.  The offer from Dumbledore for a dreamless sleep potion was tempting, and yet something niggling in the back of his mind kept him from accepting it.  Moments of clear lucidity were to be preserved at all costs, and dreamless sleep potions were known to sometimes alter the mind.  His eyes twitched as they prickled with exhaustion, and he yawned loudly.   

As he fell back into the bed and moved to pull the covers up over his chest, he reflected upon how very generous Dumbledore was to house them in the comfortable staff corridors.  The smooth velvet hangings reminiscent of his school days were pulled back with the traditional gold cording and even the bedspreads were as he remembered.  He noticed that he had tossed his dressing gown over the end of the bed and smiled at how easily old habits came back in the proper environment.  The very way the moonlight splashed through the curtainless window evoked sentiments of yesteryear, and as he pressed his face into the silk sheets Elizabeth's little kitten crawled its way up the blankets to nuzzle under his neck. 

            Placing the empty baby bottle aside, Sirius tucked a sleeping Elizabeth in the cradle Minerva had transfigured for them.  He had become accustomed to not asking questions when it came to uncovering current objects previous states.  He had yet to forget the one time she had transfigured a temporary Quaffle from a rather large pile of Griffin dung so the match could continue.

            Their daughter's rosy cheeks were bright against the white mattress, and she made small suckling sounds in her sleep.  He tucked the plaid blanket securely under her chin.  As he watched her slumber, his mind drifted back to the incident in Dumbledore's office.

            "Moony," he called softly.

            "Hmm?" Remus muttered sleepily, his head buried in a mound of pillows.  

Sirius sat on the edge to the bed and poked his mate.  "Wake up, Moony.  I want to talk."

Remus rolled over with a groan, one slender arm flopping over his eyes.  "Could you lower the fire, Siri?"

With a quick flick of his wand, the merry flames obeyed his order.  Smiling, he nuzzled the soft spot between the other man's shoulder and neck dislodging the sleeping kitten.  He inhaled the familiar scent deeply.  "Mmm… Moony… what do you think of our daughter now?"

Soft lashes brushed his cheeks as Remus closed his eyes.  He felt incredibly drained of energy and not in the mood to discuss his daughter's condition again.  "Siri," he moaned, "Can't this wait?"

"Just answer the question—then I'll let you sleep."

Remus sighed.  _What do I think of __Elizabeth__? He asked himself.  "I love her," he said simply._

"But what she is able to do…"

"Sirius, she's gifted.  We knew that.  Are you still afraid?"  He raised himself up on an elbow and peered closely at his mate.  Sirius' eyes were downcast, his fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Not scared exactly.  Just apprehensive.  I don't think the _Daddy's Guide to Tantrums is going to be very affective."_

Remus laughed tiredly.  "I like watching you fret for a change."

"Well, don't get used to it," Sirius groused.  "That's your specialty."  

"Paddy, if it's any consolation to you, I happen to be very adept at fire-extinguishing charms," he teased, planting a kiss on his lover's nose.

Sirius' eyes brightened.  "Just think what she's going to be able to do when she's here!  Ah… the new Marauder strikes at last!"

Striking him on the head with a pillow, Remus flopped back down and pulled the kitten onto his chest.  He yawned loudly and pointedly in Sirius' direction.  The last clear thought that ran through his mind was, _bloody hell, I think I'm falling asleep…_

"All right," Sirius chuckled.  "I get the point.  Go to sleep, Moony.  Get your bloody beauty sleep."  His words fell on deaf ears as a loud snore broke free.  He wrapped his arms around his sleeping mate and pressed his lips to his forehead.  "'Night, Moony.  I love you."


	11. And Then There Were Two

Chapter 11

            In the dim lighting of the front hall, a tall man stood idly in the shadows tapping his fingers against the stone wall.  His dark gray robes hung open at the neck revealing a smoothly knotted tie and perfectly pressed linen shirt.  Long legs were clothed in elegantly tailored trousers, and his polished dragon-hide boots shone in the candlelight.  Pale gray eyes watched the students as they left the Great Hall, his expression betraying not even a flicker of reaction as two young girls purposefully bumped into him.  After several moments, the doors re-opened and a man with snapping black eyes emerged with a young girl in tow, her footsteps trudging along the stone floor. 

            "Twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Green, and that will be more if you don't pick up your feet."

            Indignant eyes stared mutinously at him before dropping to the floor.  

            "Well, are you waiting for a royal pardon, Miss Green?"

            "No," she glared at him mutinously.  Her eyes caught the hidden man's slight movement in the corner, and she stared at him curiously before turning to leave. 

            Waiting until her footsteps died away, Howard finally stepped forward from his hiding place.

"Well, well.  Who do we have here?"  A figure clothed entirely in black from head to foot stood before him, steely black eyes sweeping over his features.  "Well, I certainly didn't expect to see you here, Whitney."

            Howard inclined his head stiffly.  "Professor Snape."

            Severus Snape folded his arms and stared formidably at his former student.  Earlier that evening, Dumbledore had called all the staff together for a briefing on Lupin's situation.  _And of course, he thought in annoyance, __everyone was so eager to offer their services to the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—former in a long string of formers.  While he had listened to Dumbledore's quiet request for assistant, he was amazed to feel a pang of indignant anger.  As the war had done little to diminish his hatred towards the last remaining members of the so-called Marauders, he had entered the discussion fully prepared to be the only staff member to object to their involvement.  Yet when Minerva had turned to ask his opinion on the matter, he had been reduced to a gaping idiot who could only nod his head blankly after each of Minerva's questions.  She in turn, had stared at him closely, her narrowed eyes searching for his hidden agenda, and for once, if he had been asked, there would have been nothing to confess.  _

For the first time in his adult life, Severus Snape felt self-conscious as Howard Whitney appraised him with those cold grey eyes.  Furious at this unexpected and decidedly unpleasant sensation, he curled his lip and adopted his surliest expression.  "Surely you don't expect me to simply admit you, Whitney, former student or not."  

            Howard's expression hardened.  He recalled Professor Snape's sickening show of flattery when he was a student and knew now without a doubt that the professor's preferential treatment was directly linked to his family.  _Wanker, he thought sourly.  Staring at the disagreeable man, he inclined his head in a mockery of a bow and curved his lips in a sardonic smile.  "Snape," he said coolly.  "The Headmaster is expecting me.  Can I rely on you to lead me to his office, or shall I search myself?"_

            Severus knuckles whitened as the condescending golden-haired Adonis continued to eye him frigidly.  He swallowed a sharp retort.  If Robert Culpepper heard word of his grandson's mistreatment there would be hell to pay, and even _he was wise enough to steer clear of __that particular family.  The Culpeppers were a classic example of incompetent, pompous bastards, descendants from an even longer line of inept wizards.  Whitney was no exception—all show and no brains.  Misplaced loyalties with a head larger than Potter's.  With great effort, Severus reluctantly shrugged that last thought aside.  He owed his life to Potter—they all did—but the wounds of the past were slow to heal._

            He unfolded his arms and jerked his head towards the stairs.  "I wasn't aware that you kept in touch with the Headmaster," he said slyly as he moved from the hall.

            Howard followed him up the winding staircase.  "I haven't.  I'm here on a favor."

            "Oh?" Severus asked.  "May I ask for whom?"

            "Not that it is of any of your concern, but I am here for Charlie Weasley."

            Jerking his head up, Severus paused mid-stride.  _Charlie Weasley?  He recalled hearing through the grapevine that the Dragon Keepers had acquired a new member.  Surely Whitney wasn't their new recruit.  The thought of fancy-boy Whitney in a position that demanded strength and bravery instead of freshly pressed robes was laughable.  "This isn't another rescue attempt is it, Whitney, because if Hagrid needs to be reminded of the definition of an illegal pet—"_

            "It concerns Remus Lupin, so can we shut up with the small talk?" Howard snapped as he clenched his fist against the banister.  _If it's possible, he thought in disbelief, __Snape's an even slimier bastard than I remembered._

            Severus' eyes gleamed as he comprehended the truth behind Whitney's revealing choice of words.  He nodded briefly before resuming the climb.  _So, he thought in surprised amusement, __Culpepper's grandson is finally getting involved with werewolf affairs… very interesting… He glanced back at the younger man and shook his head at the irony of the situation.  For years Culpepper had steered his grandson down a heavily regimented path, determined that Whitney be his successor.  __And now it appears that Whitney is clearly not on the Ministry's side, he observed.  It was a well known fact that Dumbledore had very little tolerance for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and for him to call Whitney forward led Severus to believe Remus' circle of supporters extended further than he was aware.  With a knowing smile, he stopped in front of the door leading to the Headmaster's office and stated the password._

            "Well, if he's expecting you," he said graciously, his upper body sweeping forward in an identical mockery of bow.      

            "Good evening, Professor Snape," Howard answered tightly.  Moving forward, he disappeared into the hall.

            Severus' smile faded as the door closed, his curiosity piqued.  He was determined to discover how Charlie Weasley and Howard Whitney were involved in Lupin's mess.  When Dumbledore had outlined the situation he had cleverly excluded the names of the other participants.  As he glided down the stairs, he wondered briefly if Potter knew of Lupin's circumstances.  Rubbing his hands, he decided to compose his former pupil a brief note. 

**********

In another part of the castle far from Severus' scratching quill, dark red velvet hangings lay in folds across mussed bed sheets.  Next to the bed, an oak nightstand supported a wobbly pile of textbooks on which a flickering beeswax candle extinguished itself in a gentle swirl of smoke.  A slender hand clutching a forgotten quill hung over the side of the bed.        

Silvery light spilled through lead-paned windows along the right side of the wall and slender pine boughs danced back and forth in the slight breeze.  Across the lawn, one could see the mirrored reflection of the moon in the calm depths of the lake.  With a soft sigh, the boy rolled to his stomach, his cheek pressed against the corner of mattress.  The quill fell to the floor with a tiny thud.  Faintly veined lids twitched as he dreamt, and pink lips, the envy of every Hogwarts girl, parted slightly with snores.    

The moon was high in the sky before the silence was broken by the faint chiming of the curfew bell.  Shuffling feet passed along the narrow torch-lit hall as conversations faded in and out through the opening and closing of heavy wooden doors.  

A rush of voices poured into the room as the door to the Sixth-Year dormitory creaked open.   An odd assortment of boys tumbled in, their voices rose in annoyance.

"Hurry and light the candles." 

"With what may I ask?  You know my arms are full—I'm carrying _your damn books."  The sound of crashing books and heavy thuds jarred the sleeping boy awake.  "Bloody hell!"      _

"What's going on?" he yelped, all pretenses of sleep forgotten.

"Michael dropped his books," a grouchy voice replied from the ground.

"Well, I wouldn't have if you hadn't stopped in the middle of the room," the other boy retorted.  "Bloody hell Clayton, you tore my essay!"

"Will you blokes move?" a third impatient voice joined the fray.  "For crying out loud, Doug, cut the crap.  That's _not your wand!"_

A hissing sound illuminated the room as the now wide-awake boy lit the candle next to his bed.  He snickered at the sprawled heap of boys, textbooks, robes, and a _bra?  A bright blue scrap of lace had managed to wind itself around Doug and Clayton's arms.  A flush rose up his neck.  _

            Clayton's eyes met his knowingly and he winked.  "We're embarrassing little Christian over here."

Michael continued to grouse as he gripped the pieces of his essay.  "Six bloody hours, Clayton!"

Sensing an argument, Christian jumped up to light the wall sconces.  A warm yellow glow flooded the chamber.  "Just seal it together with spellotape," he suggested.

"Save it, Christian," Doug groaned as he stood and brushed off his robes.  "_Someone's a consummate perfectionist."  Michael ignored him and walked haughtily to his bed.  _

Clayton released a bark of laughter and shoved the bra into his pocket.  His neck muscles ached from the fall, and his eyes burned from translating the tiny script in his Ancient Rune's text.  Falling onto his bed he kicked off his shoes.  "And what were you doing up here _alone, Christian?"  Doug snorted at Clayton's barb._

"I _was sleeping, Clayton," Christian said pointedly.  "I take it from your little souvenir that Laura was a bit more accommodating tonight?"  _

Chuckling, Clayton rolled onto his stomach and poked about under the bed hangings.  "You're an odd bloke, you know that?"  Christian stared at his friend enviously, his eyes following the well-defined muscle tone filling out the gray sweater.  Sighing, he flexed his own muscles and glanced about furtively.  He wondered briefly if the girls would pay him more attention if he attempted a bulking charm.  

Yanking impatiently on his necktie he tossed it carelessly into his chest.  As he undressed he marveled at the differences between Doug and Michael.  The two Ravenclaws were engaged in yet another heated battle, and while Clayton usually acted as mediator, tonight his nose was deeply buried in a tattered copy of _Zsa Zsa Witch.  Christian leaned over and caught a glimpse of a woman draped seductively over a chaise wearing—__that couldn't be, he grinned._

Clayton smoothed down the crinkled page.  "Yup, body paint.  Pretty sexy, eh?"

Christian swallowed and stared at the outline of well-rounded curves.  Smiling at Clayton's obvious engrossment, he pulled on faded pajamas and moved towards the washroom to brush his teeth.  Clayton folded the corner and flipped to the next page. 

"Hey, Christian."

"Yes?"  He turned slightly at the Scottish brogue, his toes curling against the cold stone floor.

Michael sat with perfect composure on the edge of his bed and ran a hand over perfectly tucked sheets.  "Why didn't you show at study group?" he asked evenly, interrupting Doug's tirade.

Christian's dark chocolate brown eyes widened as he feigned a yawn.  "I was completely knackered, Michael."  He left it at that and walked into the bathroom and began to brush his teeth vigorously.  Through the open door, he could hear the hushed voices of his dorm mates.  _They're probably discussing me again, he thought tiredly.  He spat into the sink. _

"Oh dear," the mirror sang cheerfully.  "Someone's looking a bit under the weather.  I know what time of the year it is!"

Christian flinched.  _Bloody mirror, he thought with a grimace.  He capped the toothpaste and pointedly ignored her. _

"Well," she huffed, "don't come asking me for advice when people start to suspect."

"No worries, I won't," he snapped and turned on the tap full force to drown out her voice.  He splashed cold water on his flushed face and threaded damp fingers through his wavy brown hair.  With a deep sigh, he rested his head on his forearms and closed his eyes.  

Long minutes later, he straightened and blew out the candle.  The dorm room was cloaked in silence but for the rustling of Clayton's magazine.  A faint wisp of smoke trailed invitingly under his nostrils as he padded softly across the room and joined Doug at the window.  

"Mind if I bum a fag?"

Doug shook out a smoke and lit it with the end of his wand.  Christian accepted it gratefully and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the nicotine rushed through his system.

"Can't you do that outside?" Michael whined as he yanked his curtains shut.  "It bloody stinks in here."

Christian pushed open the window and watched as red sparks tumbled to the ground.  A soft kiss of cool night air tousled his hair as he glanced surreptitiously at his roommate's shadowed profile.  He was well aware that Doug spent most of his time on Quidditch, studying, and arguing with Michael, but at certain times his silence offered an insurmountable amount of comfort.  Times like now when Michael's incessant questioning would have grated terribly on his nerves.  Christian knew Michael was just playing the role of a concerned friend, but tonight he felt absolutely no desire to explain his actions.

He smashed the end of the butt on the stone wall and executed a quick smoke-repelling charm.  Doug retired after a bit with a yawn, but Christian remained at the window, his mind filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts.  _Realistically, he tried to convince himself, __it's been years.  __I need to get over this.  But every year despite his efforts, he could hear his uncle screaming in German, his English forgotten, as the Ministry officials bound and carried him away.  On that fateful night in October, a six-year old's memory was forever burned with the tortured man's final words: "Nein, nein, dast ist meine Sohn… meine Sohn!  Ich liebe dich…"  __My son…__I love you… _

Christian's outstretched hand trembled as he reached futilely for something yet unnamed.  Comfort, perhaps?  A sense of relief from the injustices a young child should never have born witness to?  A low keening sound escaped his lips as he pressed his knuckles against the cold stone.  He waited alone for the dull ache to subside and for the blissful release of forgetfulness to preside over his mind.    

**********

            A brilliant thunderstorm swept across the Scottish highlands, clashes of thunder and jagged bolts of lightening crackling through the velvet night sky.  Relentless gusts of wind whipped through the denseness of the forest, uprooting young saplings and forcing the sturdier trees to cling desperately to the soaked ground.  As the pounding, incessant rain hammered at the roof and window panes, Remus suddenly shot up in bed with a muffled shout.

            Remus tore the blankets away, his legs kicking the offending objects away from his sweat drenched body.  He drew ragged breaths as he searched the bed frantically, his hands finally coming into contact with Sirius' warm sleeping form.  He stroked the smooth alabaster skin with a shudder of relief, and leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed.  A split second later he opened them with a snap, his dilated pupils searching desperately through the faint light for a distraction.  The visions has been too real, to horrifying, and in the darkness beneath his lids they swarmed around him relentlessly like vultures devouring a carcass.  They were all too familiar—gleaming steel blades, pools of crimson blood, tortured screaming… and in the midst of the mob's raging blood-thirsty cries there was a clear sound that floated above the general din—a sound of a child wailing.

            He crawled out of bed and reached for his dressing gown.  He drew it clumsily over his trembling frame, his fingers fumbling with the cord.  Taut facial features were illuminated in a dazzling flash of light, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he swallowed.  _It was a message, he realized dully, __a message informing him this vision would soon become his fate.  Guilty and frustrated, Remus moved toward the window and pressed his fevered forehead against the cool glass.  Evasive behavior was his trademark, and if it weren't for the promise he had made Sirius…            _

            A vision of Mary McAllister cradling her young daughter against her chest as she fled to the war-ravaged continent flashed through his mind.  Mother and child, both ostracized in the world, neither one willing to accept death as their fate.  And yet, a life of running and hiding was hardly acceptable to Remus.  He insisted on fighting his battles squarely and justly and refused to cower behind the protection of others.  Fortune was truly on his side as he realized the number of people willing to support him, and yet Lady Fortune was constantly playing him for the fool.  Every time true happiness was within his grasp the cruel machinations of fate manage to turn everything inside out.  A werewolf's life was made up of one second chance after another, and he wondered bleakly if this time his number would be called.  _God forgive me, he thought desperately.  Pressing a cheek against a cool section of the glass, he could feel the faint vibrations from the drumming rain on his face.  The occurrence of something as simple as a thunderstorm did little to alleviate his pain as his mind searched furiously for answers._

            He didn't know how long he stood at the window or how many minutes passed before he noticed Sirius standing next to him, offering strength through his silence.  He smiled slowly, feeling blessed as Sirius watched him with unhidden warmth.  Outside the storm continued to rage, but its fury paled in comparison to the gamut of emotions running across Remus' tortured face.  Blazing gold eyes bore into blue, and still Sirius stood immobile.  The pounding of his heart pleaded silently for Remus to reach out to him.

            Slowly, Remus stepped forward, his hands trembling as he placed them cautiously on the broad expanse of Sirius' chest.  He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth skin and focused his eyes on a small birthmark decorating a patch of skin just to the left of Sirius' belly button.

            "I had a dream," he whispered raggedly.

            Sirius lifted his hands to pull him into an embrace but paused at the torment raging across Remus' face.

            "It was horrible, Sirius… so beyond anything I have ever dreamt."  He lifted agonized eyes to the blue pools gazing at him with such sympathy.  A shudder passed through him as he grasped for words to describe his visions.  "There's always an axe, a gleaming blade, and blood.  So much blood."  He covered the bottom portion of his face with the palms of his hands.  "And I hear you screaming… and Elizabeth crying.  But this time there was something else, something rising above the exuberant cries of the crowd."

            Sirius winced and dropped his hands helplessly.  

            "I heard a child crying, but it wasn't Elizabeth.  This child could speak.  I remember these words, 'Nein, nein, dast ist meine Sohn… meine Sohn!  Ich liebe dich…' and I don't know what they mean," he choked.

            "German.  He's saying, 'No, no, that's my son… my son.  I love you,'" Sirius said with a harsh, embittered laugh.  God, the irony that his beloved should be put through this endless torture ate away at his resolve to be patient.  He wanted to rip the black poisoned hearts from Lancaster and Macnair's chests and put an end to his lover's pain.  

            "Christian Huber?" he whispered.  Remus crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

            Unable to stand the separation a minute longer, Sirius slid his hands up and down his arms and looked directly into Remus' eyes.  "Look at me," he said with a sad smile.  "You are braver and wiser and infinitely more patient than I could ever be in your situation.  And I _admire you so much, Remus.  I ask only one thing of you."_

            Remus nodded, his arms warm from the friction of Sirius' hands.

            "I humbly ask you to grant me a tiny portion of your courage.  Hotheadedness doesn't necessarily lend itself to bravery," he quipped, feeling immense relief at the small smile on Remus' lips.  He reached forward and brushed aside a tawny silver lock.  "In return, I will grant you every wish that is within my power, and I swear to you that I will do nothing to jeopardize our happiness."  He held up his two fingers and said solemnly, "Marauder's pledge." 

            Laughing, Remus wrapped him in a fierce embrace and pulled the dark head down to brush a soft kiss against his lips.  Feathery touches turned harder, more determined, as the two men raged war against each other, tongues and lips battling for territory.  Remus swept his tongue through the warm cavern of Sirius' mouth, and the other man groaned low in his throat, amazed at his own urgency.  In response, he tugged with deliberate pressure on Remus' swollen lower lip and bit a line of pleasure-pain kisses along the tender flesh.  The cord of Remus' dressing gown fell to the ground and warm hands swept under the material.

            Remus twisted his head to place a trail of hungry kisses down the smooth column of Sirius' throat, his hands threading though silky midnight locks.  As his knees threatened to give way, he noticed in surprised pleasure that his lover wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing and hadn't during the entire conversation.  He chuckled.  Only his Sirius could offer up comfort and love standing buck naked in a cold room.  After another drugging kiss, Sirius raised his head and peered down at Remus who was in an awkward half kneeling, half standing position.  Pressing a tender kiss against tawny locks, he gently raised him to his feet.      

            "Can you sleep now?"

            "I think so."

            A sudden rapping on the door startled the two men.  Fumbling for the cord to his dressing gown, Remus turned to Sirius and hissed urgently, "Your clothes, Sirius!"  Sirius swore under his breath as he stumbled to the wardrobe.  He grimaced as his large toe made contact with the foot of the bed.

            Glancing over his shoulder to make certain his mate was decent, Remus opened the door quickly.  Minerva stood in the hall, her face pale in the shadowy light.

            "Hurry," she rasped, her hand clutching at the folds of her robe.  "Albus needs you immediately."

            Fear coursed through Remus as he turned frantically to Sirius.  "Elizabeth—" he choked.  Sirius froze as tortured twisted images began to fill his exhausted mind.  Remus bit back a cry at the whiteness of Sirius' complexion.  "It'll be fine, love.  Here.  Come here, please."  He swept him into a firm embrace.  "Sirius Black, I order you to stop thinking."  He smiled crookedly as he hid his own nervous trepidation.  He dashed to the wardrobe and changed hastily.

            Minerva walked forward carrying a slumbering Elizabeth.  "Hurry."  Remus propelled Sirius forward and they dashed after Minerva's disappearing form.    

            Down the long corridors they ran, Minerva gliding effortlessly across the floor.  Were the situation not so dire, Sirius was tempted to ask what was affixed to her shoes, but as it was he could only maintain his tight grip on Remus' sweaty palm.  The slender man's face was expressionless, his eyes focused on his daughter's sleeping face.  As they rounded the sharp corner leading to the Headmaster's staircase, Remus stumbled.  

            Exhausted eyes filled with misery as he lost his footing and collapsed to the stone floor.  Immediately, Sirius knelt down and cupped Remus' face with strong hands.  He placed a kiss on his soft hair and said gently, "Come on, Moony.  Take my hand."  Struggling to his feet, Remus tried to muster what was left of his dignity.

            "Thank you," he said softly as they hurried to join joined Minerva at the entrance to Dumbledore's office.  By the time they reached the top of the stairs, the great door stood open revealing the Headmaster illuminated by the glowing orange-red fire.  

            "Sirius, Remus," he said somberly.  "Minerva, please.  There's a cradle here for Elizabeth."  Minerva nodded wordlessly and walked into the room.  Remus searched Dumbledore's face for a sign.  "Please come in."

            Dumbledore's office was blanketed in long shadows, the high dancing flames in the hearth offering the only means of light.  Several plaid armchairs formed a horseshoe in front of the fireplace, and Remus saw with surprise that two of the seats were already occupied.  A sense of dread overcame him as he wondered frantically if they were Ministry officials.  His common sense told him otherwise, but in his panicked state he could hardly listen to reasoning.        

            "Sirius, do you think…"

            Sirius glared at the two men who rose to their feet.  Remus' emotional frailty unnerved him greatly, and he was rather at a loss of what to do.  Pride dictated Remus' decisions, and while he never allowed himself to appear weak before others, tonight his guard was in dire risk of falling down.

            Dumbledore waved them to the chairs.  "Please sit."  His pale blue eyes were filled with worry.  He motioned towards a tall young man with pale gold hair and fathomless gray eyes.  "This is Howard Whitney."  Remus and Sirius both started.  Meeting Charlie's friend in the middle of the night had not been on their agenda.  

Howard inclined his head.  "Just Whitney, please."  

Dumbledore smiled kindly.  "And this young man is Christian Huber."  A slender boy with wavy brown hair took in the strangers warily.  Remus exchanged quick glances with Sirius.  His heart contracted for the miserable boy sitting proudly in his too short night clothes.  Dumbledore completed the introductions and slowly everyone sat.  No one accepted the customary offering of tea.

A long agonizing minute ticked by.  Remus twisted uncomfortably in his chair and looked at his daughter.  Elizabeth slept soundly, her tiny mouth sucking furiously on her thumb.  For a brief moment he thought of possible weaning techniques before he was thrust back into reality.  Dumbledore sat awaiting a response with shadowed eyes.  Remus flushed. "I apologize.  What did you say?"

"I've received some news."    

            "Not good news, I assume," Remus replied with more bravado than he felt.

            Dumbledore's eyes shifted cautiously to Sirius as if gauging his potential reaction.  "I am afraid a missive was delivered a short while ago."  Remus and Sirius blanched.  

            "It's from the Department, isn't it?" Sirius rasped when it became apparent Remus was unable to speak.  Dumbledore nodded slowly.  "What does it say?"  

            Reaching into his cavernous pockets, Dumbledore withdrew a slim role of parchment sealed with the tell-tale Ministry stamp.  "It is yours to read, Remus."  Remus stared at the offering as if it were his death warrant.  His hands refused to move.  Sirius took the missive with shaking hands and wondered dazedly why the Ministry insisted on wasting so much wax.

            "I, too, received a letter," Dumbledore hesitated as he took in Remus' grey pallor.  "I've been instructed to—to…"  Sirius' hands disappeared into his sleeves, and his pounding heart threatened to jump from his body as he waited for the Headmaster to continue.  With carefully chosen words, Dumbledore leaned forward and spoke in a low tone filled with heavy regret and something akin to urgency.  "Remus, Robert Culpepper signed a decree authorizing the removal of Elizabeth from your care effective immediately.  The Department knows you're here and have instructed me to give her to them… I've left them in the hall.  Severus is with them now—holding them off."

            Remus began to panic as he gripped the arms of his chair.  Someone whispered the name Robert Culpepper in disbelief.  "Albus," he managed hoarsely, "what are you suggesting that we do?"

            Sirius ripped the wax from the parchment.  His eyes scanned the document before thrusting it at Dumbledore.  "Read this!" he spat.  "It's about the trial—they've already assigned the fucking date!" 

            Christian quaked as Dumbledore tore the letter from Sirius' shaking hand.  The Headmaster's blue eyes were as cold as steel, and suddenly Christian knew what it was that set Dumbledore apart from other wizards.  He could feel the intense anger radiating from the old man as he absorbed the contents of the document and knew without a doubt that had his own uncle been privy to Dumbledore's confidences the outcome might have been different.  After several failed attempts at sleeping had passed, he had come to the Headmaster's office that evening to finally speak of his past not knowing that an identical situation was fast spiraling out of control.  He grimaced over the irony of it all.   

            "When?" Whitney leaned forward on his arms, his brow furrowed.

            Sirius shot a mutinous look at the seemingly composed man.  "I suppose this pleases you, you sick son of a bitch," he snarled, lunging from his chair.  Whitney flinched and raised his hands.  "You think you and your family can get away with this—your fucking grandfather's going to pay, you hear?  Your family's going to suffer as much as he is, I swear to god…"  Sirius swung wildly, his punch landing squarely on Whitney's jaw.

            "Sirius!" Minerva shrieked.  She rushed forward with her wand raised.  "Don't, Sirius—he didn't know."

            "He knew!  Why else would Culpepper's emissary be here?"

            Whitney was stunned.  Bright gray eyes focused on the frantic man looming over him.  Gingerly he touched his jaw and winced.  "I _didn't know.  I swear to Merlin I had absolutely no idea my grandfather was involved."  His eyes were heavy with regret.  "Charlie came to __me last week.  I swear Mr. Black, that's all I know.  Please, you have to believe me—I don't even __like my grandfather—I haven't supported his work in years."_

            "Yeah, well Charlie told _us you're staying at Culpepper's house.  Don't think we aren't aware of your cozy little situation," Sirius growled.  "You lying bastard!" he struggled as Minerva held his forearm tightly._

            "It's out of necessity!" Whitney burst out, leaping to his feet as Sirius' broke free.

            "Well, that makes it nice and convenient, doesn't it, Whitney?  What else have you been telling your grandfather?"

            Whitney's scowl darkened.  "This is the first time I have seen my grandfather in over five years.  I don't tell him anything," he muttered.

            "Culpepper's little protégé.  Yeah, we've heard _all about you.  Pretty little boy decides to be a Dragon Keeper to prove to his Grampy that he's a strong brave boy," Sirius mocked in a sing-song voice.  "'Look at me, Grampy.  See how I'm not scared of the big bad dragon?'  __Don't expect pity from me."  _

            "You're completely irrational!  You don't have anything to base your accusations on!" Whitney cried in frustration.  He had never wanted to hex anyone as much as he did Sirius Black.  His hand slowly crept towards his pocket.  Sympathy aplenty he felt towards the maligned man, but his partner was a different story all together.  This one was determined to play low and dirty.  

            Sharp flints of light shone from Sirius' narrowed eyes.  "I'm being irrational?" he hissed, pressing forward forcing Whitney to sit back down.  "_Your grandfather basically signs __my partner's death warrant and __I'm irrational?"           _

            A soft hand fell on the tense muscles of Sirius' arms.  Remus shook his head.  "Sirius," he warned.  He turned to Whitney and appraised him silently, wondering if the young man was speaking the truth.

            "Mr. Lupin, I swear to you that letter just came—I've been here for hours—Professor Dumbledore asked me to come.  If I had any idea the magnitude of the situation…"  Remus' gaze unnerved him.

            "How much do you know?" barked Sirius.

            "Well," he faltered.  "Charlie asked me what I knew about the Bristol werewolf and I—"

            "Dietmar Huber."

            Whitney's eyes flew to Remus.  "Pardon?"

            Remus closed his eyes.  He felt the unnerving desire to strangle someone.  "The Bristol werewolf had a name.  Dietmar Huber.  Please use it."

            "Right, sorry then."  Whitney's stomach churned unpleasantly.  He looked from Remus to Sirius and wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this mess.  His grandfather was not particularly known for his sound judgment and the fact that he had joined forces with Macnair and Lancaster, two of the most unsavory characters in the Ministry, unnerved him.     

            "He's my uncle."

            Slowly Remus faced the younger boy who sat with his knees propped up against his chest, his hands gripped together tightly.  "Christian?" he said hesitantly.  He dropped his hand as Christian recoiled from his touch.  

            "He was executed ten years ago tonight," he whispered.  "Are they going to do that to you?" he sounded panicky and far younger than his sixteen years. 

            "I don't know," Remus said thickly.  "We're going to try our best to prevent that from happening."  He waved away Sirius' protest.

            "Is she your daughter?"

            Smiling, Remus motioned for Minerva to bring Elizabeth forward.  "Elizabeth, this is Christian Huber."  Christian touched her cheek tentatively, and Remus encouraged him further with a kind smile.  He desperately wanted to save Christian from reliving his pain, and the only way he knew how was to distract him with something that epitomized love.  "Christian, would you hold her for me?  She won't cry—she's a big girl now."  Elizabeth sat quietly on Christian's lap staring up at him with large violet eyes.  He grimaced.

            "That's not much of a smile," Remus teased.

            His lips stretched crookedly across his face.  Elizabeth giggled and pulled his nose.  

            Remus turned quickly to Sirius and Dumbledore.  "The trial's set for November 25," he said in a low urgent voice.  "Albus, you have to help me find Mary and Bridget."

            "I'll send out investigators first thing."

            "Thank you.  I also need to find someone to represent me—"      

            He was interrupted by heavy pounding on the door.  Minerva grabbed the Headmaster's arm with a small shriek.  "Albus," she stammered.  

            "You cannot enter the Headmaster's office!" Severus' voice sounded faintly through the wooden panels.  The ear-splintering pounding continued, and the handle rattled furiously.  Remus grabbed Sirius' hand and squeezed until their fingers were numb.  His golden eyes searched the taut features of his lover's pale face in a desperate search for reassurance.  _Please, his eyes pled, __please don't let them take her away.  You stay with her, Sirius, I'll go away…  _

Sirius' eyes burned as his throat worked convulsively.  He thought about all Remus had been through and was desperate to put an end to the cycle of misery.  _I'm not giving up on you, his eyes read, __I love you.  Shuddering, he wondered what James would do in his place.  He wouldn't want them to fall apart—only once before had the Marauders failed, and he was determined it wouldn't happen again.        _

_ I need you to be strong, Remus eyes pleaded.  __Please be strong.  _

            Severus' screams echoed through the room.  "Please," Remus begged.  "Open the door, Albus—don't let them hurt him."

            Dumbledore crossed the room quickly, his eyes snapping with ire.  Wand raised, he nearly blew the door off its hinges.  Severus fell to the floor in a heap, sweat dripping from his face as he curled into a tight ball.  Three huge men filled the doorway.

            "You've kept us waiting a long time, old man."   

            Dumbledore pointed his wand directly at the men.  "You're not welcome at this school," he said in a terrible voice.  

One of the men with dark craggy features advanced menacingly, his wand extended.  "We've come for the child.  Give her to us."

Terrified, Christian crept towards a dark corner, Elizabeth tucked under his arm.  "Shh…" he whispered as he muttered a quick silencing charm.  Slowly he made his way across the cold stone.  For the first time ever he wished he was in Gryffindor.  Elizabeth clung to his pajama top, her little lips moving soundlessly.  Big tears welled in her eyes.      

            "You'll leave this school immediately," Dumbledore ordered.  "_Wingardium Leviosa."  Severus' limp body floated into the room._

            The three men moved suddenly.  A large figure moved forward from the shadows.  "I'm afraid, Dumbledore, you do not have jurisdiction over the child."

            Margaret Lancaster eyes snapped furiously.  She scanned the group before her, her frosty glare falling on Remus.  "Mr. Lupin, I have a signed decree ordering the removal of Elizabeth into protective custody effective immediately."

            "On what grounds?" Remus asked in an equally cold voice, unwilling to be intimidated.

            "On the grounds of Section 1521.  In the general interest of the child, I have managed to convince the Ministry that there should be _no exceptions to the rule."  Margaret removed her wand from her robes.  "Come, I grow impatient with these games.  Albert," she barked.  An impressively hideous man came to her side, his massive bulk stretching the seams of his robes.  "Take the child."   _

            "No," Remus pleaded and stepped quickly in front of Albert.  "Please Margaret, give us a moment—we weren't prepared.  I was under the impression that we passed our last caseworker visit—"  His hand stretched towards her before he realized what he was doing.  

            "Miss Powell doesn't speak unless instructed.  Albert, now!"      

            "Where is she?" Albert pressed closely to Remus.  "Hand her over, _werewolf."_

            Only Sirius caught the humiliated look in Remus' eyes.  He scanned the room quickly and noticed with a start that Christian's chair lay empty.  He opened his mouth to warn Remus when he suddenly caught a slight motion from the far corner of the office—the tip of a shoe sliding into the shadows.  

Albert shoved Remus roughly.  "You'll be dead anyway, werewolf," he laughed.  His foul breath stank sharply of onions, and Remus grimaced as his unwashed body touched his own.  The Department was certainly stooping to new levels to pull these three into service, he thought just before Albert punched him in the stomach.  

With a roar, Sirius threw himself onto the attacker and began to smash in his face.  Albert's melon-sized head snapped viciously to the side, his knees giving way as Sirius' windmill arms and legs attacked the larger man with more speed than skill.  Smiling smugly, he finally felt a huge release of tension as he used physical force to flatten the ugly son of a bitch.  Blood splattered across the stone floor as Albert's bulbous nose met with a particularly well aimed right hook.    

Remus bowled over as he clutched his stomach.  Minerva hurried from Severus' side and caught him by the shoulders.  "Remus," she whispered, "where is Elizabeth?"    

            "With Christian," he gasped.  He wondered briefly if his internal organs had been rearranged.  Starbursts of light intertwined with streaks of red flashed throughout his head.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sirius pounding Albert into the floor and Dumbledore standing to the side, his wand still pointed at the other two men, holding them immobile with some type of spell.  Margaret looked furious.  She swept past the men and scanned the room.  

            "_Accio Elizabeth."_

            "No!" Christian shrieked in terror.  His hands clung desperately to the screaming baby, and he dug his heels into the ground as the force of Margaret's spell propelled him forward.  Whitney jumped up and quickly blocked the spell.

            "Howard Whitney!" she shrieked in aghast.  "What are _you doing here?"_

            "Evidently the same thing you are," he began.  Sirius lifted his eyes from Albert, blew on his bruised knuckles and glared knowingly at the younger man.  "Except for different purposes," he finished coolly.  He took Elizabeth from Christian's arms and patted her awkwardly on the back.

            "Your grandfather is going to be extremely displeased," she hissed.  "Give me the child, Whitney.  Don't be foolish—we can't help you if you're aiding a fugitive werewolf."

            "His name is Remus Lupin, Lancaster, not _werewolf."  _

            Furious, Margaret lashed out.  "You'll regret this, Whitney.  This will be your downfall."  

            Whitney shrugged.  His eyes widened slightly as her _assistants surrounded him.  "If you don't hand her over," she continued, "you will all be taken into custody and not released until the trial."_

            "You bitch!" Whitney raged as the two men tugged none too gently on his arms.  "I can't believe my grandfather is working with you!"  She smiled smugly at him and watched with pleasure as he, too, was punched in the jaw.  

Remus' head screamed as waves of blood pounded through his veins.  He closed his eyes as the shouting escalated.  The words he feared most had finally been uttered, but none of his visions and no amount of warning could have prepared him for the absolute agony coursing through his body.  Every fiber in his being shrieked in protest, as he heard in the distance a long high-pitched keening sound that continued on and on… He felt strong arms wrap around him as he realized the screaming was his.

            "Nooo…" he screamed as the wolf inside raged frantically along with the man—the beast desperate for release.  He pushed frantically at Sirius' bulk, his lungs gasping for air as pin-pricks attacked every inch of his skin.

            "Remus," Sirius cried, stumbling backwards as the out of control man shoved him violently.  Running to his sobbing daughter, Remus pulled her from Whitney's arms and pressed her closely to his chest, his eyes tightly closed.  He breathed in the unique aroma of sunshine and powder, violets and milk.  All fragrances forever intrinsically linked to his daughter, and he shuddered, thinking it would be impossible to separate the scents from his memories.

"They're not hurting our daughter, Sirius," he whispered, eyes seeking assurance.   Elizabeth continued to cry as she batted her little hands frantically against her father's chest.  Remus cupped the flailing limbs in his own strong hand and nuzzled the feathery softness against his cheek.       

            "It hasn't happened yet," Sirius cried desperately.  "We can run—they'll hold them off.  We'll hide, Moony—we'll get Harry to help us—and Hermione, she'll know of a way to make our apparition invisible—and—" He stopped at the pained look on his lover's face.  

            "I'm sorry, Lizzie," Remus wept.  "Shush, now, Daddy's fine… Oh, I'm so sorry for hurting you, baby…"  Shadowed golden orbs met the dark blue pain-filled gaze of his lover that seemed to cry out "I'm sorry" over and over again.  Refusing to relinquish eye contact, Remus swallowed hard and nodded his head as if to say, "We have to do this."  Sirius blinked back hot tears.

            Remus took a deep shuddering breath.  "Margaret," he said shakily, "please promise me you won't hurt Elizabeth."

            "She'll be where she belongs.  Where she'll be safe."

            Remus swallowed tightly and closed his eyes briefly.  "This is temporary, Margaret.  We'll come back for her—you're not going to win.  This is about love—something you'll never understand."

            "No…" Sirius whispered helplessly.

            Turning Elizabeth in his arms, Remus gently stroked away her tears.  "Lizzie, you're going to go with this lady—no!" he shouted hoarsely as one of the men took a step forward.  "Margaret, I want you to take her—I don't want those _creatures touching her."  Pressing hot kisses to her cheeks, he felt his heart shatter as his daughter patted his cheeks with soft hands.  Hot tears rained down his cheeks as he memorized the pinkness of her cheeks, the soft black lashes spiked with crocodile tears, the way her tiny mouth creased when she was displeased…  "Sirius," he choked._

            "Moony, please—there has to be another way."  Sirius begged as he wrapped his arms around his family.  "Think hard—we still have time."

            "We can't, love, you know that.  You heard her—if we don't give in she'll lock us up and then there will be no chance of…" his voice trailed off as he found he couldn't even utter the horrible possibilities facing him.  Continuing in a shaky voice, he pressed his forehead on Sirius'.  "She'll be safe at the IWPA.  Cecilia and Genevieve will care for her.  Tell her you love her—I—I can't say goodbye—" his voice broke as silent sobs overtook him.  

            Desperately trying to be brave, Sirius caressed his beautiful daughter's hair, his heart cracking at the knowledge of their imminent separation.  "Elizabeth, we love you—we'll see you soon, sweetie, don't cry..."  In a moment of inspiration, he swept his wand out of his pocket and quickly conjured up a warm, glowing red ball hanging from a gold string.  

            "An amore ball" Remus breathed through his tears.  "Its perfect, Sirius.  Thank you."  Together they draped it over her head and rested it gently on her chest.  "Elizabeth," he lifted one small hand and placed it over the glowing object.  "This holds our love—whenever you're scared just touch it and we'll be with you."

            "She's so small she probably doesn't understand…" Sirius said quietly.

            "No, she does.  She's our daughter, Padfoot.  She's brilliant."

            Margaret stepped forward and pulled Elizabeth away from the two men.  Crying out in surprise, Elizabeth reached out her arms.  "Da da," she screamed hysterically as Margaret swept from the room, her men in tow.  

            Remus pressed his hand over his mouth, golden eyes streaming with tears as Elizabeth's screams faded down the hall.  Turning, he bowed his head as grief, remorse, and self-hatred flooded his senses.  Sirius enveloped his distraught lover in strong arms, his own eyes shedding hot tears.  Words escaped him as they rocked slowly.

            Dumbledore gazed sorrowfully at the two broken men, his own heart cracking at the edges.  He gestured Minerva forward, and they quietly conferred with Whitney.  

            Long minutes later, Dumbledore placed strong hands on their trembling shoulders.  "Remus?  Sirius?  Whitney has agreed to represent you, if that is all right with you."  Startled, Remus raised his tear-streaked face from Sirius' shoulder and gazed at the pale man.  He mouthed his thanks and smiled weakly. 

            A low groan from the sofa on the far side of the room startled the somber occupants.  Gingerly, Severus sat up and pressed his fingertips to his temples.  "So it's begun," he rasped.  Sirius jerked in his direction, but a gentle squeeze held him back.  Groaning, Severus leaned his head back and closed his eyes to stop the spinning.  "I've notified Harry about Mary and Bridget McAllister.  He's consulting with the Croatian ministry this very minute."

            "How?" Remus asked in stunned disbelief.

            With his typical sardonic smile, Severus said proudly, "I have my ways, Lupin."  Yawning, he pushed himself to his feet, his knees cracking in protest. "As much as this has been fun, gentlemen—I think I'll leave now."  He hobbled to the door, his gait stiff from the curse he suffered at the hands of Margaret's men.  "Oh and Lupin," he called before closing the door, "Harry said he'll be here tomorrow."

            As Remus' shaking subsided, he abruptly noticed Christian standing in the corner of the room.  Disentangling himself from Sirius' arms, he went quickly to the shivering boy.  "Christian," he said quietly.  "I'm sorry you had to see this."

            "No—no, it's all right.  I'm fine.  I—I—can I go back to my dorm, Professor?"  Dumbledore nodded his permission.  

Remus rested a tentative hand on Christian's shoulder.  "Just a moment," he shook head at his own foolishness.  Remus understood only to well the aching pain fleeting across the weary boy's face.  "I meant what I said, Christian.  I'm truly sorry."  

Christian was visibly taken aback at the man standing staunchly before him offering _him comfort.  He shook his head at the irony of the situation.  He should be the one comforting him!  Wetting his lips, he stammered, "Mr. Lupin, you don't need to apologize.  My uncle would've liked you.  He didn't get the chance to defend his honor.  You can make him proud."  He strode across the room and left quietly.  _

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and drew deep breaths before facing the remaining occupants of the room.  "I don't think I could sleep… Whitney, do you think we could discuss a starting point?"  Whitney nodded.  "All right then… okay.  Sirius, love, she'll be fine—Cecilia won't let anything happen to her."  Taking a seat at Dumbledore's long table, he unrolled a fresh piece of parchment and picked up quill.  "Let's begin, shall we?"


	12. Remembrances

Chapter 12

            For the four occupants of the tallest tower, that October night was the longest any of them could remember since the war ended.  It wasn't the scratching of dull quills or the flapping and rustling of Fawkes' long elegant wing feathers that reminded them of the impending morning.  Sleep was forgotten and simple things like eating and drinking were of no importance as a maniacal form of energy coursed through throbbing veins.  Even the act of yawning had ceased as pots of ink slowly drained.  It was inevitable that the dawn bursting forth in a periwinkle sky awash with pastel would bring forth long anxiety-filled hours.  

            Sirius scowled as the night owls perched on the ledge flapped their wings in preparation for their journey into the forest.  He hated the light this morning with a passion, and as his ink-stained fingers impatiently cut a smooth ridge into his quill, his mind repeated a single thought.  _There is no rest for the weary._

            The strange clock on Dumbledore's wall began to whirr as the tiny figures began to move slowly, then faster and faster as the hour chimed six.  Remus glanced up at the sound, his exhausted senses wondering if it had really only been yesterday that he had marveled at the appearance of the strange object.  Releasing a pent up sigh, he forgot about the clock and leaned his chin against the top of his hand, pale blue veins shining through translucent skin.  As each year passed, Remus was aware of the gradual change in his skin tone—what was once a fleshy pink color was slowly fading into something akin to moonshine spilled across freshly poured cement.  He had become accustomed to his usual state of grayish-white even if Sirius did insist on practicing tanning-charms, unwilling to believe that his Moony could acquiesce so easily.  

            Smiling faintly, Remus stole a glance at Sirius' strong, un-lined hands.  Proper bronzed flesh-colored skin covered a strong bone structure that had never seen a break, and he wondered briefly if Sirius also practiced on himself.

            Sirius' lips lifted questioningly at his lover's quizzical stare.         

            "Whitney," Remus murmured, pulling his eyes away from the over-bright blue ones.  "You must be exhausted.  Please—you should rest."  He rested his hand on the younger man's tense forearm as the hand moved rapidly across the page underlining sentences.

            "Not tired, thanks," Whitney mumbled.  

Sirius noticed suddenly that Whitney's wand resembled the one Ginny had given him weeks ago in preparation for the meeting with Charlie and Hermione.  "Hermione," he nudged Remus with his foot.  "We should contact her—it's not too early now."  

Dumbledore's stooped shoulders straightened.  "Would she be at home or at the office?"

Sirius choked back a bark of laughter.  Laughing at a moment like this seemed absurd, and yet he knew of no other way to release his anxiety other than picking a fight which required energy, and all the bluster was simply gone from his body.  Feeling slightly bereft of his normal outlets, he tore a section of parchment and rolled it into a tight ball.  "I am pretty confident, Albus, that she's been at the office for a good hour now."

 Remus turned his head away as Dumbledore walked over to the fireplace to call Hermione.  It was a mistake, he realized, as dry red eyes fell up the empty cradle.  The plaid blanket fell half in the bed and half on the floor, and the tiny mattress shone diamond-white in the faint light.  But it was the single slipper than nearly broke the steel bars surrounding his heart.  The tiny yellow knit booties had been a gift from Molly and one of the few pairs of shoes Elizabeth was willing to wear with good grace.  Now it lay abandoned, a stark contrast to the whiteness of the sheet.  

"Hermione?  Are you there?" Dumbledore called into the flames.

After a prolonged period of silence, a face appeared in the flames, bright brown eyes staring out from the only face in the room that appeared to have gotten any sleep the previous night.  "Professor Dumbledore, what's wrong?" Hermione asked in a semi-strangled tone, her mind accepting of the fact that a six am call could only bode badly.  Immediately, as her mind was wont to do from years of experience, she thought of Harry.  "Is it Harry?"

Sirius' heart wrenched at the seemingly simple question.

Dumbledore's sigh shook his entire frame like one of the saplings in the forest attacked by an onslaught of rain.  "No, it's not Harry… He's fine—in fact, Professor Snape has informed us that Harry will be arriving here today."

"Us?" Hermione's eyes scanned the room quickly.  

"Yes—I am here with Remus, Sirius, and Howard Whitney—Charlie Weasley's friend." Dumbledore leaned forward towards the flames.  "Are you quite alone, Hermione?"

"I'm alone—what's happening?" she pressed impatiently.  

"Margaret Lancaster removed Elizabeth from Remus and Sirius' care late last night. Apparently Robert Culpepper has signed a decree reinstating Elizabeth into the care of the IWPA until the trial is concluded…" he broke off as if unsure how to continue.  Hermione was stricken.  Nowhere in her mind had she truly been prepared for the wheel of events to move into action.  Somewhere tucked far away in her subconscious, deep within the part of her mind that allowed for fanciful imaginations and a belief in miracles, she had hoped that they would resolve the problem without ever going to trial.

"When?"  Dumbledore's eyes shone diamond-hard with a glassy brilliance that reminded her vaguely of a crystal blue sea.  

"November 25.  The trial is set for then.  Howard Whitney has agreed to be the barrister for the case.  And in the meantime, we wanted to update everyone as to the change in circumstance and try to gather as many people as possible." 

Sirius knelt at Dumbledore's side.  "'Lo Hermione.  We're in a bit of a bind… can you take leave?"  He glanced back and noticed Remus' prone figure, those golden eyes dulled as he stared at the empty cradle.  Only once before had he seen those awful eyes, void of all human emotion, and that had been the night before the events of October 31—the night Sirius had stood next to the bed shouting terrible words—hurling frightful accusations that still rang in his mind.  Lowering his voice, he said urgently, "Hermione, Remus is… fragile.  Don't let his countenance fool you.  The people who love him—_all of us—know he can't be alone."_

"Sirius, I'll come straight away," Hermione managed to say as she alternated between states of rage and incredible sorrow.  "Professor… the wards…"

"Apparate just outside the grounds.  I'll tell Minerva to lower the wards temporarily and meet you at the gate."  

"Fifteen minutes—give me that much time—I need to find…" She disappeared with a pop.  Dumbledore laid a heavy hand on Sirius' shoulder.  Understanding the silent plea for help, Sirius assisted the old man to his feet and became acutely aware of the delicate fragileness of his former Headmaster.  A trial such as Remus' would quite likely sap him of any remaining energy left from the war, and his vibrancy would dull as unwanted weariness took hold.  Dumbledore's steps were slower; his shoulders stooped lower; the millions of tiny wrinkles gracing his face even before Sirius and Remus' days as students, were deeper, more creased… The students of the new era, known as the Post-War Era, felt without speaking that perhaps the Headmaster's days were numbered.  Sirius' eyes clouded as he noticed for the first time that Dumbledore and he were no longer at eye-level, and he felt a slow moving change come between them—as if a request had been made and he was the only one who could answer.  He felt decidedly odd in his new position and felt pangs of apprehension course through his body as the magnitude of what just transpired hit him.  Dumbledore would always be wiser, stronger, and infinitely more aware of what every situation necessitated, a lion as opposed to a leopard, and yet it was clear he was beginning to require something or someone—and that unspoken need could be found in the form of the strong, capable man propping him up and leading him back to the table.  

"Remus…"

Shaken from his reverie, Remus turned at the sound of his lover's voice.  _Poor Padfoot, he mused, really expecting nothing less from his fiercely protective companion.  "I'm fine."  He stood and motioned absently towards the tea set.  "Tea?"_

Three tired voices answered affirmatively.  Remus tapped the merrily painted tea pot and small plates, marveling at the efficient way in which Dumbledore's office connected to the kitchen.  Current scones, marmalade, stacks of buttered toast, and several flaky croissants were carried to the table.  Whitney quickly pushed aside piles of paper and stacks of books.  Strands of blonde hair fell loose from his leather band and swept across his forehead.

Silence fell as the men helped themselves to the breakfast fare, stomachs grumbling as hunger overtook the need for sleep.  Remus poured golden liquid into cups and passed them about, his own plate empty.  

"You need to eat," Sirius mumbled between bites.  He pushed forward the plate of toast.  Remus waved it away, his face slightly green.

"No… just tea."

"Tea is not sustenance, Remus… no matter how much sugar and cream you add."   

Remus quirked his lips and took a long sip of the soothing liquid.  He refused to respond to Sirius' bait as tea acted as a balm to his daily rollercoaster of emotions.  And Lord how he needed it today.  

Following a soft knocking at the door, Minerva and Hermione entered the room.  Hermione's expression was solemn, and her morning greeting lacked its usual spunk.  Dumbledore initiated the introductions, and while Whitney and Hermione exchanged brief pleasantries, her sharp eyes appraised the grandson of Remus' enemy.  Morgan had already briefed her on the specifics of Howard Whitney while she tore about her office searching for an array of items.  

Sitting on a chair next to Remus, she reached out hesitantly and squeezed his forearm.  "Good morning, Remus," she said calmly.  Hermione's matter of fact attitude shifted the mood in the room.  Whitney passed her a plate and Sirius poured her tea.  _Normal activities are healthy—or rather, something resembling a semblance of normalcy, she corrected herself as she stirred her tea noisily.  "Cheers."  She tipped her cup at the room in general.  _

"Good morning to you, Hermione," Remus responded in a pleasant voice, his arm relaxed and still under her grip.  "Whitney, would you please pass the marmalade?  Thank you."  He slathered a good portion of the sticky jam onto a piece of toast and took a large bite.  Ignoring the churning of his stomach, he managed to swallow.  Appearances must be maintained, and Remus was anything but dramatic during times of strife.  If eating constituted being normal, than eat he would.  He drained the contents of his tea in an effort to clear the bread and bits of orange rind caught between his teeth.  

"I am pleased you arrived so quickly, my dear."  Dumbledore smiled at the smartest witch of his whole tenure at Hogwarts.  Hermione was not an enigma—not like Remus Lupin, one of the only students who would have given Hermione a real run for her money should his lycanthropy had not interfered in his studies.  He continued to smile as he thought how fortunate Remus and Sirius were to have her assistance.  "Frankly, it's a mess we find ourselves in," he continued.  "Margaret has already removed Elizabeth, and from the grounds of this letter, it appears that we have just a month to prepare for trial.  Robert Culpepper seems very adamant in his support of Margaret Lancaster and Walden Macnair."  

"Lancaster and Macnair are the pustules on the butt of mankind," Sirius growled, his fingers scattering crumbs across the table as he ripped apart his croissant.  Hermione's eyes were thoughtful as she ate a spoonful of marmalade.

Dumbledore threw Sirius an odd understanding look.  "Severus has been kind enough to contact Harry about our search for Mary and Bridget McAllister—a werewolf mother and uninfected daughter.  They are one of the few remaining people on the registry. He was to have contacted the Croatian Ministry to ascertain their whereabouts.  As far as other issues…"

"Is he trustworthy?" Hermione jerked her shoulder towards Whitney.

At this, Sirius did laugh.  "Apparently so.  It appears we have the only anti-Culpepper family member representing us.  Whadaya think—ironic, eh?"  He ignored the reprimanding look Remus gave him.

"Well…" Hermione broke the awkward silence.  Folding her napkin and pushing aside her plate, she reached into her bag and pulled out several ledgers and thin journals.  Laying a copy in front of each man, she pressed her fingertips together and stared at each in turn.  Minutes passed before she was able to speak.  Remus frowned at the journal in front of him, his finger tracing the gold embossed lettering.  

_Alonzo Fitzherbert's Trial Prep Notes: __October 25th, 1995__ Case 9, The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures vs. The __Bristol__ Werewolf    _

"Where did you find these?" Remus asked in disbelief.

"Jamison.  He found an old copy tucked away among his former boss's things."

"How much does Jamison know?"  Remus' fingers shook as he awaited Hermione's answer.

Hermione took a deep breath, girding herself for the inevitable.  "He knows everything—Remus," she flushed in angry humiliation, hating herself for her next words.  "Remus, last week Morgan gave me the transcript for the trial."

"That's great!" Whitney interjected, feeling as if a great present had been tossed in his lap.  "Have you got it over there?"

"Er…no."

Remus folded his hands in his lap and waited for her to continue.    

Whitney, on the other hand, could hardly contain his excitement, so thrilled he was by this lead. Why, with the transcript as an aid they could walk in the lead prosecutor's steps, make headway on his arguments, attack his angles, understand his chronology…

"And," Sirius added wryly, "we'll discover how he managed to convince the jury to believe this bullshit."

"Yes--yes of course."  Whitney flushed as he realized he'd been speaking aloud.  "Mr. Lupin," he pressed, "this is quite possibly the break we've been looking for--the key to understanding the ways in which the Department regulates these cases.  If you would just hand me the transcript, Ms. Granger, I could start compiling an outline."

Hermione took in his eager smile, his alert expression, and wondered for a moment about the sincerity of his actions.  She had grown wary of people who immediately feigned interest or showed a marked compunction for the underdog; and Whitney had done both without truly knowing Remus Lupin.  Her eyes narrowed slightly at his outstretched hand.  Howard Whitney had been in his Seventh Year when she started Hogwarts, and for the life of her, she couldn't recall his face.  He claimed to have been a Gryffindor, and the fact that she couldn't remember him sharing the common room puzzled her greatly.        

"I don't have it."

Whitney's mouth fell open.  "But--but you just said Morgan gave it to you last week."

"She did."

"Okay then…" 

"I _did have it," Hermione felt the heat from Remus' gaze on the top of her bowed head.  "It was stolen."  Raising her eyes quickly, she hastened to add, "But I think I have a good idea who the thief is.  Look."  She held up a scrap of red fabric.  "It's been torn from the robe of a Ministry Elf, and I found it in the very drawer the transcript was lodged."_

"So it's gone?" Whitney asked in a hushed voice as if he expected a high-powered Ministry official to apparate into the room brandishing a wand.  It was odd, this feeling of conspiring against one's own grandfather, and yet liberating in a certain sense.  Robert Culpepper was a stingy, bitter man, a Ministry official elevated to his position of power not by merit of his own accomplishments but as a result of who his father was.  Thinning salt and pepper hair crowned a face harsh with crater-like lines and dark liver spots.  Grey-green eyes that had never, in Whitney's recollection, sparkled with happiness were the focal point of an otherwise forgettable face.  Whitney's mother, Fiona, Robert's only child, bore a striking resemblance to her father right down to their identical weak chins.  The chiseled jaw line and Grecian nose gracing Whitney's face were a genetic gift from a father he had never met.

In Whitney's estimation, Robert was a spineless bastard, a half-man who thrived off the discomfort of others.  A man who knew he pulled no rank in the Ministry despite his title and lashed out his frustration on his family.  Whitney had left the Culpepper Estate a year post-Hogwarts on the eve of the discovery that his own mother had pledged allegiance to her father.  

As a child, Whitney could recall the long-drawn out howls of outrage as his grandfather stumbled home, his walking cane smashing into the woodwork, searching for small legs.  He could hardly remember a time when he didn't see him with the cane--in all the photographs from his grandfather's younger days, the shiny black walnut torture device was present.  The spindles of the banister were his only friends in those frightful years--tiny bars that secured a space between a small boy and the humorless man standing before him.  On a good day, Robert Culpepper could dazzle the room with wit and charm causing witches to swoon and flirt with him shamelessly.  On dark days, he was a changeling, a tortured twisted man who believed everyone was part of a conspiracy, everyone possessed with the desire to kill him.  House elves shrieked in fright, majestic greyhounds cowered beneath the desk, and a boy with the face of an angel became a human whipping post.     

Whitney had always associated the uncontrollable rage of his grandfather with the oil portrait hanging at the top of the landing.  For the entirety of his childhood, he would charge up the stairs, determined to pass the portrait without looking, and yet each and every time, the same magnetic pull would seize hold of his eyeballs and rivet them until he stared as if transfixed.  The stately imposing figure stood twelve feet high, black velvet crimson-lined robes covering shoulders and limbs that possessed the appearance of being able to rip to shreds anything thought to be an adversary.  And the eyes… those frightening emerald eyes that sent shivers down the House elves' spines… _serpent eyes, they whispered amongst themselves.  _

The domineering figure commanded respect as the epitome of a cruel and twisted power, and on his deathbed, five figures stood watch: the doctor, hidden within the shadows of the tomb-like room; the executor of the estate, his scratchy quill filling endless lengths of parchment; the granddaughter, her white face blank but her steely eyes blazing; the son, his face impassioned as he clutched the dying man's hand; and the grandson--a child of no more than three who sat high upon a chair of such firm material he had to hold onto the arms for dear life.  The old Culpepper patriarch took his time dying.  Ten years they waited as he intermittently wheezed and gasped for breath, his hawk-like mind refusing to give up even as his body began to decay.

The little boy watched from the shadows that fateful night.  He wrinkled his nose in displeasure at the rancid smell rising from soiled sheets.  He whimpered once for his nanny, but cowered as the two stooped figures moved to the side and those dreadfully cold emerald eyes that promised a thousand types of torture fell on his face.  Soon after, his legs fell asleep, then his bottom, and in no time at all, his plump little arms lost their feeling as well.  Just as he began to slide off the horsehair cushion, Charles Culpepper released his death rattle.  

The cherub-like child toppled from the chair and hit the ground with a wail.  It was to become his first introduction that night to the black walnut cane.  A twisted sobbing little boy lay curled on the floor, his legs a bloody pulp as loose sections of skin dangled from their counterparts and rivulets of crimson stained the Turkish carpet.

"Get up.  Get up at once, you're ruining the carpet."

Tiny little balled fists rubbed at swollen lids.  He stared with a three-year old's disbelief at his coldly elegant mother's pointed shoe.  The tip was encrusted with diamonds and emeralds, and as his eyes reflected their brilliance, he wondered in amazement if she was going to go and leave him alone.  "Mama," he pleaded, his voice sounding a bit like the baby goat's bleating he remembered from the farm he went to with his nanny.

The sharp shoe poked at his stomach.  "Don't call me that, you sniveling little brat.  Must I keep instructing you to call me Fiona?"

"Ye--Yes Fiona," he stammered.  Crocodile tears rained down his cheeks as he applied weight to his damaged knees.  His mother reached down impatiently, grabbed hold of the collar, and hauled him to his feet.  

"You are to wait here for the undertaker.  Father and I are going out."

Whitney's little mouth squeaked in protest.  To be left alone in the room with the dead body of his great-grandfather was unthinkable!  And she was extinguishing the lamps--what kind of mother did he have--"Fiona!" he shrieked in terror as he ran across the room.  "Fiona, no!  No--don't take the light.  Don't take the light!"  He hurled his little bleeding body against the solid door and reached futilely for the door knob.  "Fiona, Fiona, Fiona… I'm good!  I'm a good boy, Mama…"  Unforgiving darkness swallowed the room save for the light from the solitary candle next to the bed.  

The shadows played tricks on the hysterical boy's mind.  He sat frozen, his knees and legs curled to his chest, his arms wrapped over his ears.  Eyes like saucers darted from the dark blood stains in the carpet to the uneven hanging of the sheets as they lay over the flat form of the dead man, and in a single moment of sheer terror, he noticed the candlelight had caught a shifting in the air.  Objects that had never before moved began to dance eerily, their hard surfaces tip-taping across the wood floor.  He scrambled into the corner and tried to press himself as tightly against the wall as possible. "I don't believe in ghosts.  I don't believe in ghosts."  Every muscle in his body tensed and shivered as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to become invisible.  The heavy velvet curtains has been pulled shut per the demands of his great-grandfather, and not a single crack of light permeated the thick blackness of the room that shuddered and issued sounds of its own accord.

For how many hours Whitney sat paralyzed with fear, he knew not.  After what felt like an eternity, he crawled to the door to listen desperately for any sounds coming from the other parts of the house.  Silent sobs welled in his throat as it became clear that even the lowliest of house elves had gone to sleep.  

A wild fury rose from the corner of the room where the doctor had hid issuing forth a relentless banging and sounds of shattering glass.  In a state of sheer terror, the little boy lost control of his bladder, and for one glorious instant, he forgot about the sounds and instead wondered what in heaven's Fiona would say and how many lashings he would receive.  Just as he began to imagine that the figure on the bed was moving, the candle extinguished itself with a single hiss and he mercifully fainted.  

It was in this room, two days later, that the undertaker found him--sprawled across the floor, caked blood covering his lower body, his skin a ghastly bluish-white.  But it was the state of the room that gave him an even greater fright.  It appeared as if a wild band of demons had been released--the bed covers were flung in all directions, tables lay on their sides, and chairs with legs snapped in two covered a blood-stained carpet.  However, his blood chilled at one sight in particular.  Caught in the beams of sunlight trickling through open drapes sat the corpse of the old man propped up against the headboard, his eyes staring unblinkingly ahead.   

Whitney smashed a half-eaten scone with the palm of his hand.  He never let himself think of those years and wondered briefly how he had allowed himself to wallow in his memories.

"It's gone," Hermione answered.   

"Huh?"

"I said it's gone," she repeated, her brows drew together as she eyed him suspiciously.  "And this was the only thing amiss in my office."  She waved the little scrap of red across the table.

"Gone," he said stupidly.  Clearing his throat, he made a movement to wipe his hands on his trousers then stopped.  "Damn," he muttered as crumbs sprinkled onto the fine linen.  He grimaced at the way his hand persisted in trembling.

"I've managed to access the Ministry elves' schedule and have conclusively determined that the elf on duty in my Department that day was no other than Mr. Alonzo Fitzherbert's ex-house elf, retained by the Ministry after his death.  Mr. Fitzherbert," Hermione clarified, "was the prosecutor for the Bristol case and was directly retained by _your grandfather."_

"Well, that's a fine kettle of fish," Dumbledore whistled.

"Yes, well… I'm fastidious about security.  The only thing I can think of is that I left my office unattended for the briefest of moments when the elf was bringing the tea.  But even then I would have just been outside in the hall with Morgan, and I swear I didn't hear anything."

"Have you spoken with this elf?" Remus asked.

Hermione shook her head.  "That's the problem.  He's missing.  They haven't scheduled him for a shift since the incident, and Culpepper's department's keeping mum about the elf's whereabouts saying it's of no concern to them."

Sirius groaned.  "_Goddamn the bloody bureaucracy over there!  Doesn't it seem strange to you that the only people who know about this case disappear?  When did this Fitzherbert bloke die?  I reckon it wasn't too long after the execution.  And now the only copy of the transcript disappears?  Jesus!"  He slammed his palms onto the table, rattling the dishes.  _

"Okay, well first thing--Sirius, _sit down, you're making my head spin--Hermione, have we any assurance whatsoever that Fitzherbert's elf is actually missing?"  She shook her head at Remus, unsure of everything at this point.  _

Life was becoming progressively complicated--a statement she had _never thought to say so soon after the war had ended.  Simple things such as being able to laugh without fear or shame because someone else was suffering was a luxury.  Her wedding a year ago was a noisy, raucous affair-- replete with pranks and jokes and flowers magicked to squirt water.  Her own bouquet of lily of the valley, jasmine blossoms, and orchids nearly ruined her dress until Ginny saved the day by producing her __real bouquet resplendent with shimmering drops of stardust--a gift from Remus and Sirius.  How proud her father and mother were--two simple dentists exposed to an unfamiliar world--as they walked her down the grass to the place that was to become her spot next to Ron's for eternity.  Ron's adoring look melted the tension surrounding her heart, and for a brief moment as she stood with her arms linked to her parents, her soul released itself from the confines of her human-self and executed two perfect cartwheels on the grass.  _

She nearly chuckled aloud as the Minister began his readings.  Cartwheels were a figment of her imagination--in real life, she looked rather like a fish flopping about on dry land.  Ron reached over and held her hands, his voice strong and confident and _so manly as he said his vows.  And she wanted to giggle.  Great big bursts of uncontrollable can't-be-stopped-I'm-in-love type of giggles.  But no one would understand… except perhaps for Harry, who stood to the side, his own lips twitching.  So Hermione simply repeated the sacred words and smiled as the white silk unity cloth was wrapped around their joined hands.  She could feel the trembling of his fingers and gently tightened her grip--her own heartbeat pulsating through each digit.  _

Life in that moment felt right… and sure… and so mind-numbingly wonderful that she felt afraid to take a breath until Ron leaned forward to kiss her and said instead, "Breathe, Hermione… you don't want to asphyxiate."  And at that she did laugh--first a muffled giggle, than a chuckle, and soon her entire body was forged into one big chortling mess, the kiss completely forgotten.  But it didn't matter, for Ron and the Minister and the entire congregation burst into laughter, everyone thinking they understood what was funny but no one really knowing.  Low baritones and high sopranos mingled as if in song.  She remembered every minute of that day and thought that if this was the sweetest life was ever going to get she would willingly die a happy woman.                

Hermione's eyes met Remus' golden ones, no longer alit with happiness, and she wondered if this incredibly special man who possessed the kindest of hearts would ever be truly happy.  As she outlined the tired creases lining his eyes and forehead, she felt such remorse knowing that a lapse in judgement was causing him further pain.

The clock on the wall chimed the hour, and Fawkes flapped agitatedly, his wings stretched wide begging for release.  The far window flew open as Dumbledore swished his wand absently.       

"I'll find it.  I promise," Hermione finally said.  

"We don't blame you—not in the slightest, Hermione," Remus said kindly, as he bestowed upon her one of his trademark lopsided grins.  "We'll just dig about a little more.  Now," he squeezed the top of Sirius' thigh.  "I'd be interested to know when Alonzo Fitzherbert died—and how he died."

"Quite likely it was Culpepper," Sirius muttered under his breath.

"Well," Dumbledore interjected smoothly, "that has yet to be seen, but it's a possible theory."

"The only thing _possible, Albus, is that Whitney's holding back."  Sirius faced Whitney and scowled.  "I'm just surprised no one's bother to question his motives in this whole deal.  What's he got to gain from this?"_

            Hermione raised her eyebrows and worried over whether she should voice her own doubts.

            "After all," Sirius continued in silky tones, his knuckles white against the table, "The Culpeppers are one of the wealthiest Wizarding families in Britain.  Whitney here has nothing to gain from siding against his grandfather… Unless—why, Remus, you don't think Whitey's a decoy, eh?  Fancy boy dragon-keeper has got an image to preserve.  He'd hardly want to be too closely associated with the inept fool of a grandfather he has—"

            "Sirius, really… stop," Remus begged.

            "Yeah… that's it.  He sees a bit of a family resemblance--scared you might have inherited some of his perversions, eh?  So in order to keep yourself from being identified as a Culpepper you hide behind the name of a man you never knew.  Really, Whitney, what did Culpepper pay you?  What type of favors did you have to do?"  Sirius pushed aside Remus' hand and stood.  "Listen closely, Whitney, and listen well.  _We don't trust you.  Nothing you say is going to change my opinion—I can sniff out deceit and treachery.  Azkaban does that to you, you know."    _

"I don't have to put up with your overbearing tough guy attitude, Mr. Black!" Whitney raged, his temples throbbing.  "It's completely unprovoked and small minded of you—you _bastard."  He pushed back his chair and slowly circled the table.  "You don't know my family or my motives, and you most certainly __don't know me.  You wanna talk?  You want to pretend that you're doing this for him?"  His arm swung wildly as he pointed at Remus.  "That's not what this is about at all.  You hate me because you have to put his life in __my hands and you can't stand to see him out of your control."_

"Bastard…"

"Yeah, see?  I know things.  I see things, too, Mr. Black, and right now I see a man who's so bloody scared shitless that he's lost all semblance of rationality.  This is a sick game to you—I heard you last night.  I head you tell him to run away.  Run away from here you said—there's still time, Remus, run, they'll hold them back.  You're a coward," Whitney spat.  "You're going to get him killed with your cavalier cowardly attitude and _no one, Mr. Black, will be here to help you when your own mistakes sign his death warrant."_

Whitney closed his eyes tightly.  "You're forgetting what's at stake here.  You'll lose him… and you'll lose your daughter—if you haven't already."

Sirius' face went white with shock.  He slowly dropped his arms to his side and turned his face away.  "Leave… just leave… or I'll leave… I'll leave."  He strode to the door and closed it softly behind him.  Remus watched him with stricken eyes.  After a moment's pause, he bounded to his feet and ran from the room.      

Thick layers of silence permeated the air.  Hermione walked over to a table containing a bottle of Firewiskey and several glasses.  She poured out a shot and carried it to Whitney who stood at the open window with his back to the room.

He tensed as she approached.  "Here," she said, holding out the glass.  "Drink this."

Whitney accepted the drink and continued to stare out at the grounds.  He wasn't sure how things had escalated so completely out of hand, but he knew he should have held his tongue.  _Damn it, he cursed himself.  __God damn it… I knew better.  That was a cheap shot, Whitney…_

"Albus, Albus!" Minerva's shrill voice rang through the hall.  She barreled into the room, and threw an opened letter into Dumbledore's lap.  "Read this," she gasped.  "It's from Harry--he'll be here in ten minutes--and he's bringing Mary McAllister with him."

Dumbledore's eyes flew to the letter.  Snapping bits of an indescribable emotion burned from his eyes.  "I see," he said quietly.  He folded the letter and smiled at Hermione.  "Well, it seems Harry's coming home at last."  He patted her on the shoulder and sat down at his desk.  "Perhaps you could do with a shot yourself?  And maybe while you're up you could pour me one.  These old nerves are shot, I am sad to say."

Hermione's eyes went wide with surprise.  "Professor," she stammered, "It's only half past seven… But okay.  Definitely.  Two shots coming up."    

**********

            The morning frost was just beginning to melt as Remus stepped out onto the grounds, his cloak pulled tightly across his chest.  The crisp air brought a healthy flush to the pallor of his cheeks.  He ran steadily across the wise expanse of lawn to the edge of the forest.  With a skidding halt, he stopped a few yards back, his eyes running up and down the length of a tree that was a focal point of all his memories from Hogwarts.

The Whomping Willow hadn't changed a bit in over 30 years save for a few more half-attempted initial carvings.  He smiled at their own carving: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.  Laughing softly, he could recall the absolute fury of their classmates when they discovered someone had been able to breach the savage branches.  _And it appears no one else has discovered the secret… His eyes searched briefly for anything resembling Harry or Potter or Ron and saw nothing.  Feeling decidedly goofy at the small thrill of triumph coursing through his blood, he knew that Prongs wouldn't have minded if his son had figured out the secret to the tree.  __Heck, he thought, __Prongs would have shown him.  _

He could recall the layout of the tree with his eyes closed, and he knew without looking the precise location of the secret knot.  Kneeling carefully on the wet grass, he bent down in a half-hearted attempt to dodge the sweeping branches overhead.  As he drew his wand from his sleeve a particularly vicious branch swept forward and lashed out at his chin.  In a flash he touched the knot and froze the tree.  He pressed his hand to his face and muttered a soft curse as his finger drew away blood.

"Well, I can see you've obviously forgotten me," he murmured as began his descent to the tunnel.  "Probably for the best…" 

He could smell Sirius before he could see him.

Climbing through the tunnel was tricky work as years of emptiness had caused the earth to shift and settle.  In several spots he had to crawl about on his knees using his fingers to push aside mounds of dirt.  Several new tree roots formed a canopy overhead, and he smiled wistfully at the thought of Prongs trying to navigate the tunnel with his massive antlers.  He breathed heavily as he reached the top and dragged his sleeve across his sweaty forehead.  In front of him stood the old wooden door that at one time was the signal that transformation was swiftly approaching.  A single finger slowly, carefully, traced the length of a long, slender claw mark dug deep into the grain of the wood.  

"Moony," he whispered.

He skipped over to a section of wood covered with quite a few oval imprints just the right size for an adolescent stag's hoof.  "Prongs…"

And several shallower claw marks… he frowned as he became aware of the fact that there were more of these than any of the others.  Up and down the door they ran—some short segments, others that looked as if the animal had propped himself on his hind legs and dragged his front paws down the entire length of the door.  "Ah… Padfoot.  Of course…"  He smiled fondly as he splayed his fingers, each one fitting perfectly into the scratch marks.

He ignored the tiny, barely visible marks at the base of the door.

Knocking softly, he pushed open the door.  "Sirius," he called softly, his wand illuminating the dark room.  

"Sirius, I know you're here… you forget that Moony can smell you…"

"Leave me alone, Remus… Go 'way…"

Remus leaned against the splintered wall and crossed his arms.  His wolf eyes adjusted easily to the darkness, and in the shadows he could make out the figure of a man pressed up against the side of the old bed frame.  

He didn't know what words to say to erase the horrible ones exchanged a few minutes ago, and part of him trembled as he acknowledge partial truths.  But Sirius was in pain, real physical tangible pain which always left Remus feeling helpless.  Wanting desperately to believe that his touch would hold the answer, he slowly walked forward, his hand extended.  

_But it won't be enough… he argued.  He knew, just as he knew that the sky was blue, that Sirius believed every single damning word Whitney had uttered.  And Remus was afraid to console him, afraid that his words would sound empty.  Not insincere, per se, just… blank… non-words… words people use when they feel obligated to say something and they really just want to be invisible.            _

"You came here," he began, unsure of where his thinking would take him but willing to do anything.  "_Here.  There are ghosts here—boys, __us, Sirius…"  He rested one of his beautiful delicate hands atop of Sirius' tangled hair.  "If I look just at your head, I can trick myself into thinking you're James."_

Continuing in a quiet voice, Remus began to twist his fingers in the thick black locks.  "And then I think you should bat my hand away because James would never have let me touch him like this… Just Lily."  He laughed dryly.  "And if I imagine you to be James I can just sit here, looking at him, waiting for the advice that was his trademark.  You remember, Sirius, what he said… what he always said…"

The black hair began to shake.

"James would always say, 'Carpe diem, lads… carpe diem.'  Do you remember how frustrated you would get when he would speak in Latin?  You hated it.  If I recall correctly, you would inevitably transform into Padfoot and nip at his heels and slobber all over his face."  The hand continued the even stroking.  "It took James four years until he translated it for you… and you know what, Sirius?  I knew what it meant all along… he made me promise not to tell you—that if you were so intent on knowing the meaning you could look it up.  Kind of a double meaning, hm?  Seize the day."

Sirius pressed his face to his knees.  He felt the smooth pressure of Remus' warm hand as it caressed each spot on his scalp.  _How like Moony, he thought, __to not leave any section abandoned.  _

"Sirius," Remus leaned forward and pressed his lips to his ear.  "There is really any number of mysteries in life… I truly believe that.  I don't think we are all set on a single one-directional course.  We all intersect at various points—perhaps it's part of karma, I don't really know.  If I hadn't been bitten as a child I am sure I wouldn't be the person I am today… and… and perhaps we wouldn't have become friends because I would have had the power to stand on my own two feet—I wouldn't have needed a hero."

"I'm not hero material."

Encouraged by Sirius' words Remus kept his voice low and calm, the steady cadence of his voice aimed at soothing Sirius' wounded spirit.  "Well, in the eyes of an eleven year old boy who never had any real mates you were as close as it got.  But that's water under the bridge.  You've already been firmly established as my hero, Sirius Black, so you might as well accept the fact.  Anyway… it's about carpe diem.  For some twisted reason, fate has decided that now is the time for Margaret, Macnair, and Culpepper to intersect in our lives, and we can't run from that."

Remus moved to sit in front of his partner and pulled Sirius' hands from his sleeves.  "Our lives are connected.  See?  When I press our hands together we're as one.  You know that… just as you know that we can't make this go away."

"But it's so damn unfair…"

"Yes," Remus shrugged pragmatically.  "But, Sirius, truly… something will come out of this and it is up to us to help determine the outcome.  Just imagine if parenting became an issue of love not an issue of blood work."

"You're a guinea pig… a pawn… your head is their prize."

"Be that as it may, we've got to seize the day—make full use of all the opportunities presented to us—and one of those is Howard Whitney."  Remus watched his face closely.  He trembled slightly, the coolness of the room invading his bones.   Gently he raised his hand and caressed the well-loved haggard face.  How he admired the rugged handsomeness of his lover.  His thumb moved a few centimeters to gently stroke his lower lip.  

Sirius sighed heavily.  "Do you know what I hate the most right now?"

"The splinters?" Remus quipped. 

Sirius raised his head.  "Be serious, Moony.  What would I hate the most right this very minute?"

Remus carefully examined the gut-wrenching emotion pouring from Sirius' sapphire eyes.  "Don't," he whispered.  "Don't I do that enough for the both of us?"

Laughing hoarsely, Sirius lifted his face to the ceiling.  "Yeah… you sure do, Moony," he choked.  "But now it's my turn.  Every single damning word was true.  I am afraid… I _am jealous… I __hate that Whitney holds your life in his hands."_

"And you hate him for something he has no control over."

"Well, wouldn't you?" Sirius said bitterly.  "He's a Culpepper."

Remus sighed heavily.  "I wish you wouldn't say that, Siri… for me.  Please—he can't help who his grandfather is."

"Do you trust him?  Do you?"  Sirius asked urgently.  

After a moment's silence, Remus managed to acknowledge the truth in a shaky voice.  "I do… I really do."

Dropping his hands to his lap, Sirius closed his eyes, a muscle working spasmodically in his jaw.  In the deepest sections of his heart he, too, trusted Whitney.  But he didn't like him.  In fact, his hands itched to punch him—the action he would have done had Whitney not said what he had about Elizabeth.  "So be it," he said helplessly.  

"Sirius, you've got to step back and reflect—just think a moment before you judge him too harshly.  Charlie trusts him, Albus obviously does, and I find nothing suspicious about him.  He's certainly not perfect—a bit on the brash side—like another man I know…"  He ruffled Sirius' hair affectionately.  "Come here, love."

Sirius collapsed forward and dropped his head onto Remus' shoulder.  "Moony… god, why can't I be a little bit more like you?"

At that, Remus did laugh—a truly happy tinkling sound that filled the room with a glorious light.  Suddenly the splinters no longer mattered.  He pressed Sirius' head tightly to the crook of his neck and sighed with satisfaction at the heavy somewhat moist breathing tickling his skin.  Sirius wrapped his arms tightly around Remus' waist and squeezed him tightly.  

_Love was a wonderful thing, Sirius reflected as his lips lazily traced a vein on his lover's pale neck.  He planted a tiny trail of butterfly kisses up and down the smooth column while his hands slowly stroked the slender back.  The fact that he could feel the individual bumps of Remus' spine didn't sit well with him, but he had long grown accustomed to the fact that no matter how much food you fed him, Remus just wouldn't fill out.  __It was, Sirius smiled, __a perk of being a wolf…  He, on the other hand, was in great danger of developing a belly if he didn't take Padfoot out for daily bouts of exercise._

No words were necessary as the two men reveled in their embrace.  It wasn't an issue of forgiveness, nor was it one of sympathy.  They just _were… As Remus had tried to explain in simpler terms, they were simply two intertwined souls caught up in a particularly harsh storm._

Long minutes later, Remus lifted his head and pushed Sirius' face up until their noses touched.  "I love you," he said simply.  "You—all of you."  He tilted his head slightly, lips parted, as he moved forward for a kiss.  He nearly groaned aloud at the softness of Sirius' lips.  Gentle pressure forced the silky lips apart as their breaths mingled.          

Sirius kissed him back, his eyes slits as he watched Remus' face.  It was a secret pleasure of his—watching Remus as they kissed—and one that he was sure would be met with disapproval.  But as long as Remus remained unaware of his scrutiny, Sirius could revel in the simplistic change that overtook his lover's face as blissful happiness and love replaced worry and concern.  He smiled against Remus' lips as he realized that his whole face was altered.  The eye lids became tiny butterfly wings, the cheeks the wildest of wild roses, and every single wrinkle and crease melted into one gorgeously milky bit of smoothness.

"Are you done examining my face?"

Sirius started.  Remus bit gently on his lower lip.  "You thought I didn't know, didn't you.  Admit it."  Sirius nodded his head.  "Ah Padfoot…" Remus whispered, "How many times do I have to tell you I know everything there is to know about you."

"Even my silly antics and bad habits?"

"Particularly those," Remus growled as he tried to recapture the delectable mouth just inches from his.  

"Hey Moony, do you think the bed's rotted through yet?"

A twinkle in his golden eyes dared the laughing man to continue.

"Let's see shall we?"    


	13. Shadows of the Past

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! *hugs* You guys are awesome… you don't know how much it helps the muses to hear you like where we are taking you!

Chapter 13

In a dark little corner of London there is a lane where a single street lamp illuminates the cracked concrete. Dilapidated brick structures boast window panes grimy with age while ripped yellow-brown awnings snap in the breeze. Very few visitors travel to "The Tomb," the nickname given by the locals after a bedridden man died and then didn't have the courtesy to stick around. It was, as the vegetable vender on the next block over was wont to say to pedestrians eager for gossip, as if the old man had simply disappeared. After a thorough sweeping of the dead man's quarters lodged in the very rear of the rooming house, even Scotland Yard conceded defeat and stamped "Unsolved" in bold red letters on the file. These quarters, tainted with the stigmatism of death—and of ghosts—lay silent for over twenty-five years, the sole occupant a man who kept exclusively to himself. 

That autumn morning, Londoners in the more polished sections of town dropped their stuffy airs and kicked up their heels to prance about in the mounds of leaves. Indeed the entire city seemed awash in bright reds and oranges, and even the ever-present tourists with their never ending clicking cameras paused outside of Buckingham Palace to breathe the crisp air. 

A freckled messenger riding a rusty bike flew down the old cobblestone lane toting a basket of flowers. On a whim, he tossed a handful of the fragrant blossoms to a group of dark-suited business men and grinned cheekily as an old Mini screeched around the turn, its horn squawking. 

It was in this morning of sunshine and mums, oak leaves and window displays of outrageously orange pumpkins, that Walden Macnair shuffled home, his nose running with cold. Diagon Alley was just less than five kilometers from his home, but he felt no desire to alter his routine by apparating to one of the several spots recently deemed "safe" by the Ministry. _In fact_, he grumbled as he withdrew a particularly gray handkerchief from within his robes, _my day can't get any worse_. The route to his home seemed a veritable garden which only served to exacerbate his allergies. Just as he reached his corner, the messenger flew past with a screech of tires. Walden yelped and stumbled backwards, his foot catching on the crooked hem of his robes. 

"A flower, sir, to brighten up that frown?"

Walden's face scrunched as freckled hands selected what had to be the largest mum of the group and tucked it into the breast pocket of his robe. 

"Cheerio, then!" With a gap-toothed grin, the boy jumped onto his bike and peddled down the lane. 

Walden shook his head a few times. Ever so slowly, his hand reached into his robes and with a quick, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" he froze the messenger. He laughed for the first time that day, a dry rattle of a chuckle at the way the boy's mouth hung open and his eyes took on a sloe-like appearance. With a smug smile, Walden pocketed his wand and shrugged off the inevitable Ministry letter scolding him for the improper use of magic before Muggles_. Definitely better_, he thought with a bit of a whistle.

The alley was the same—the awnings still hung from rods now black with rust—and he noticed with grim satisfaction that the city ordinance seemed to have overlooked his street when road reparations had been in full speed. He kept his head down, his face hidden by the sides of his hood as he fumbled for his key. Anonymity was his prized possession, and no one valued privacy more than Walden.

__

At last… he breathed in a deep sigh of relief at the thought of warming himself by the fire. This simple act of breathing led immediately to his hacking up a wad of mucus. He spat red. 

Slowly he began the tedious climb up the peeling steps where bare bulbs droned on each landing like a swarm of flies feasting on rotted flesh. The sickening smell of spoiled curry accosted his nostrils as he passed his neighbor's quarters, and as he coughed, he thought of the open vents in his flat and wondered how long it would take this time for the smell to disappear. Nausea tinkered with his stomach. 

After pausing for a moment to catch his breath, Walden twisted the key in the lock. A section of the door frame fell at his feet. When he had first made arrangements to rent this unit, the landlady had handed him a hammer with the instructions to remove the boards. At the time he didn't know the circumstances surrounding the boarded door, so he simply worked the sharp edges of the hammer into the grooves and yanked. Several splinters of the frame came off as well, but Walden had learned to never bother himself with the small details. 

Flashbacks to his days as an underling in the Department ricocheted through his head as he flipped the light switch. His predecessor, the old executioner, had insisted on the using Muggle fluorescent lights to illuminate the dungeon-like rooms at the Ministry, and Walden had developed a very acute loathing for anything brighter than firelight. He had long since painted the windows in his flat black, but until he could see through the murky darkness to light the tapers, he resigned himself to the dreaded inconvenience of electric lighting. 

Ten minutes later saw Walden lying prone on the couch, a wet cloth draped over his eyes, a box of tissues on his chest. He shivered furiously as the wind seeped through the cracks in the window sill with icicle-like strength. After several long minutes the fire roared to life, and he rolled to his side so that the heat could melt the harsh lines on his face. As the old adage goes, Walden had been born with the face only a mother could love—and try as his mother might, she had never been able to charm the sour expression away. 

When he was quite small, his first encounter with prejudice had taken place during his first trip to the market. Imagine, if you can, a young child leaping from the front door, his trousers held up by jaunty red suspenders. A cowboy hat in the fashion of the old American west adorned his head, and twinkling eyes peered out from beneath the brim.

__

"Wally! Come here, love, tie your bandana about your face. You want to be like the cowboys, don't you?"

And Walden had easily acquiesced, thinking it was all part of a game. Hand clasped within the gloved one of his mother, he skipped eagerly down the lane seeking adventure—perhaps he might encounter a buffalo! Witches and wizards stopped to greet his mother and to make his acquaintance. 

"Say hello, Wally, to Mr. Winfrey."

"G'day, sir," he said shyly to the man who smelled of ripening onions.

"What an original son you have, Mrs. Macnair," boomed Mr. Winfrey. "Fond of cowboys, eh lad? I had a bandana like that one myself at one time. Let's see here… perhaps I could find a… aha." Walden's eyes widened like saucers at the small wooden pistol Mr. Winfrey had conjured. "But first…" Before either Walden or his mother could speak, Mr. Winfrey's hand reached out and yanked the bandana down.

Silence.

The offending hand jerked back as if burned, knocking the cowboy hat to the ground in the process. Walden stood exposed in the middle of the street, his face bare for the whole world to see. The twisted mess of flesh was comprised of a bulbous nose, a cleft palate, and two almond shaped eyes that sat at different angles—almost as if they had been dropped as an after thought. In a world where the highest bidder could often barter his own humanity, Walden's mother wondered what she had done to deserve this. 

"Stop staring at him," she screeched, drawing him close to her side. "Walden, pick up your hat." 

Walden, understanding the change in tone and realizing the seriousness of the situation since she had called him by his full name, stumbled for his hat. As he knelt to the ground he heard the laughter of children and his ears perked. He had never had any playmates and wondered with delight if this were part of his mother's plan. Eagerly he placed the hat back in position and turned to the children.

"Hallo," he called out in bright tones.

Three children, the same age as he, stood directly in his path, over come with laughter. The tallest boy stooped his shoulders, adopted a hunchback position, and growled. Thinking he was playing a game of sorts, Walden stooped his own little back and growled in reply.

"Oh—oh—look at the freak! Look at the monster. Billy," the tall boy gasped for air. "Look! The monster wants to play! Garr… Hey beast! You don't need to pretend. You already are a freak!"

"Freak!"

"Freak!"

Walden's mother yanked him upright and tied his bandana over his face with short hard jerks. "Stop that, Wally." Walden's eyes filled with tears as the children began to play again—and even for a child so young as he, he was wise enough to know what they were doing. And he stood frozen, his heart shattering within the cavity of his chest until it hurt to draw a breath. His mother's friends moved away quietly, and finally his own mother reached down and lifted him into her arms. Walden's memory had forgotten what it felt like to be carried, but his little tortured body responded automatically as small limbs gripped her warm neck. She turned and Walden knew they would not be going to the market today. He watched as the small wooden pistol dissolved into the air. 

The children's jeers rang in his ears for several blocks, and when Walden reached his front garden, he broke loose from his mother's arms and raced into his bedroom. He dropped the cowboy hat and the bandana to the floor and jumped up and down, smashing and flattening it, wishing he knew how to make fire. 

It only seemed natural, perhaps, that Walden Macnair was destined for a career where no one judged him by his face and the "things" he dealt with were uglier than him. A beast for beast, his mother had snapped when she discovered where he was apprenticing. 

__

"What about your education?" she had wailed as Walden knotted his tie. "All those years at Hogwarts?"

"Mum! This is my opportunity! Why can't you be happy for me?"

"What kind of career is being an executioner? Your job is to kill, Wally—they're going to train you to ch—chop off heads and—it'll change you."

"Mum, please. You're making yourself upset. Sit down. Do you want a spot of tea?" Walden's face wrinkled with concern. Gently he pushed his mother into her chair and tucked the afghan around her legs. "Mum. You know that my O.W.L.'s were only mediocre. I'm lucky to have this opportunity. Mr. Sinclair is taking a chance with me. It's my chance to prove myself." His mother continued to cry while her hand patted his head. "Please, Mum. You can trust me—I'll be fair." He stood and checked to see that his Ministry badge was affixed securely to his robes. "After all, everyone is entitled to a proper trial." 

Walden's eyes fluttered as fatigue took over, and in minutes he fell into a restless sleep. The strangest visions prevailed in his dream, and as the Walden in his head separated himself from the man on the couch, he touched the wisps of atmosphere wonderingly. A glance at the ground suggested that he was floating, and yet he definitely felt something firm under his feet. Tentatively he struck the ground with his boot and puzzled over the softness. 

"Hallo!" he called out. "Hallo! Is there anyone here?"

Margaret stepped forward seemingly from out of nowhere and braced her hands on her hips. "Macnair. You're late."

Walden rolled his eyes at the annoyance Margaret presented even in his sleep. The swamp witch was simply unavoidable. There were no excuses to be made—one couldn't regulate the moment the body dropped off—and yet, he knew that she was waiting for a damn good answer. "I tagged another one."

The chilly acknowledgement of his words prompted him to wonder if he responded correctly. Just as he opened his mouth to elaborate, she waved him off dismissively. 

"What about the beast? Does Culpepper concur?"

"Culpepper is putty in our hands. You know that." 

"Be that as it may, I want assurance that you are handling everything—he's an incompetent fool—you know that as well as I do. I still don't understand why you had to involve him."

"Margaret," Walden began, weary of this talk and feeling as if he were beginning to drown in his own spittle. He spat ungraciously on the floor. "Culpepper approached me—he heard that you had filed a complaint with the Department about Lupin. Truth be told, he's pretty ticked that you didn't go to him first."

"That idiot? We just barely managed to win the Bristol case thanks to _his_ help. He'd probably slap a warning on this werewolf and then invite him to tea. No… no, this was better." Margaret sidestepped the puddles of blood and spittle as she crossed the room to her partner. "So did Culpepper concur? Can we use the potion again?"

Walden's jaundiced eyes blazed with excitement as he nodded. 

"Well, you should feel happy," she said sharply. "Two dead—hundreds left. How many more until you satisfy your revenge?"

It wasn't easy—this act of restraining oneself—and yet Walden had learned over the years that if you wanted to keep your enemies as your friends there was nothing worth saying if it could jeopardize the relationship. So he bit back his harsh reply and said simply, "When I die I'll be satisfied."

She peered at him closely, her face a chiseled marble mask—cold and unfeeling. "You never did tell me why you hate them."

"Aside from the fact that they're beasts, you mean?" He felt as if he had hacked up a lung. Strong forearms rested momentarily on his knees.

"Aside from that."

It had happened so many years ago—twenty-five to be exact—and yet it seemed like only yesterday evening that Walden had apparated from the Ministry to his parents' home where he was still living; apparated right past the ambulance on the street. The sight of his parents' mangled bodies, fleshed ripped from the bones, white eye sockets rolled towards the ceiling, had sent him keening in the kitchen where his roars of anguish were intermixed with the sounds of vomiting. 

His mother they had been unable to save; her throat had been torn out completely, and just as the medic moved to draw the sheet over her face, Walden put out a hand. He gently stroked her soft auburn tresses, fingering each individual curl. With a surprisingly steady hand he carefully lowered her lids to block the vacant stare which gave her the horrible appearance of seeing nothing and yet appearing to see everything. 

The death certificate said "mauling by dogs." There had never been any dogs in the neighborhood.

His father, however, clung to life by the thinnest of threads. He couldn't speak and had lost all function as a human. Later that evening, Walden summoned a team of MediWizards to collect his father from the Muggle hospital and transport him to St. Mungo's. It was no secret in the Wizarding world as to what had happened, and it was with an almost tangible sense of relief that the nurses released the senior Macnair into the care of his son. A small flat in a run-down rooming house in London was available, its door boarded up after years of vacancy. Walden quickly installed his father into the quarters and raised every possible silencing and locking charm on the place. The windows were painted black to shield out the neighbor's curious stares. Lastly, Walden installed a cage with thick bars and a metal floor.

Mr. Macnair, Senior never survived his first transformation. After that, unless it was absolutely necessary, Walden never apparated again. 

Margaret's craggy features displayed a rather singular expression. "So that explains it. This is personal. That's dangerous you know."

Walden raised his face to what appeared to be the sky. A single raindrop of warning fell on his forehead before the clouds broke loose and water drenched him to the bone. He thought briefly of how his mother would have blistered his ear for not wearing his slicker and goulashes. In the foggy distance he could hear Margaret's cackling laughter and something else… a voice… a feminine voice… and yet…

He jerked upright as a second cup of water was dumped over his face. Spluttering, his shoulders shook with hacking coughs. "Goddamn it!"

"Get up."

Walden brushed his wet tresses from his eyes and peered through the shadows at the person who dared to invade his rooms. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Hermione stepped forward, her wand pointed directly at his heart. "I have known about you for ten years now, Walden Macnair, and it's time you answered some questions for me."

**********

With a contented sigh, Remus pressed himself against the Sirius' warm side. It would be so easy to stay curled up with his cheek pressed against warm bare flesh… so tempting and filled with possibility. But he knew that up in the castle the others were waiting and there were a million issues that needed to be hashed out between two of the most headstrong men he knew. With a loud yawn, Remus pulled lightly on the hairs adorning Sirius' chest.

"Padfoot," he whispered.

Sirius smacked his lips as if eating a delicious treat. "Hmm?"

Tightening his arms around his lover, Remus propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at Sirius with shadowed eyes. "We need to go back. Harry's probably already here."

"I'm so comfortable, Moony," Sirius whined. "C'mon… just a few more minutes…"

Remus laughed. There was very little that he could resist when it came to Sirius, and when he used that whiny puppy-dog voice of his—look out. He settled himself back on the bed and closed his eyes. _It's remarkably comfortable_, he mused, _once we used a cushioning charm. Perhaps I shall close my eyes… just for a minute..._

"Sirius!" Remus jolted up in the bed. "It's been hours. Come on… they're waiting for us." Using both of his hands, he pulled his sleep-tousled mate to the floor. "Get dressed. Hurry!" Frantically he pulled on his shirt and tucked it messily into his pants. "I can't believe we did this… sleeping together—wasting time—Sweet Merlin, Sirius, we just had _sex_—our daughter's gone and we just had sex." He spat the word to the floor, jumping on one foot while yanking on his sock.

Surprised and concerned by Remus' reaction, Sirius pulled on his shirt and began to fumble with the buttons. "Moony, what do you mean? How can you be angry about this? We need this—"

"We wasted time, Sirius! Hours—time that we can't get back we spent doing _this_." He jabbed a finger at the rumpled bed. With an angry jerk of his wand he banished the sheets and pillows, returning the bed back to its original state. "Don't you understand the seriousness of the situation, Sirius? We should have been working—finding ways to get our daughter back—_not_ indulging ourselves!"

The shack trembled under Remus' shouts, and for a brief moment, Sirius didn't have any clue as to what to say. He hesitated, then muttered, "Screw it," and yanked Remus into his arms. "Don't defame what we just did. I don't regret it and hell if I am going to let you."

"Sirius…" Remus' muffled voice came from somewhere between the folds of Sirius' shirt. 

"No—let me finish. I always allow you to be the rational one, the one with the sturdy head, picking up after my mess, giving me advice—and I'm sick of it. Even this morning—_I_ sat here wallowing in self-indulgent guilt—_I_ cried out for comfort like some kind of nancy boy—_I_ picked a fight with the most important person in the case… and frankly, Moony, I'm sick of myself. Since when did Sirius Black become such a whiner? God, if I had ever taken Divination seriously I would have been appalled if I saw myself now. And you can bet your ass that James and Peter wouldn't have believed it either."

Remus raised his head and frowned slightly over the ease at which Sirius said Peter's name. 

"So…" he paused. "I'm ready to go and work this through together, Moony, and if I'm not going to wallow than neither are you. Buck up, Moony. C'mon, Harry's waiting for us."

Managing an excellent imitation of a man who just had a freezing spell thrown at him, Remus smiled faintly and gripped Sirius' hand. No words were needed as the two men crawled down the tunnel, leaving behinds ghosts of their present selves to add to the collection. 

**********

Albus Dumbledore prided himself on his patience. His stomach growled loudly as he reached for his handy bowl of lemon sherbet drops. The cellophane wrapper crinkled loudly in the room, and he sucked appreciatively on the tasty sweet. The sugar crystals melted away into a lovely pool of just perfect sourness. 

"Would you care for a lovely lemon sherbet drop, Mr. Whitney?"

"No thank you," returned the voice of a rather put-out young man.

Dumbledore shrugged lightly as he circled his chambers slowly. Walking had always proved to be an excellent stress reliever—a suggestion Madam Pomfrey had made upon his last physical.

"You are getting far too soft in your old age, Albus," she had scolded him. 

Even now, if he pressed his hands through the heavy material of the robes a pillowy softness cushioned his fingers. _Ah… curse the ancestor who passed down the sweet-tooth gene!_ He chuckled.

Whitney turned at the sound and wondered what in the world the old man could find amusing. For him, this was a regular purgatory. His twitchy fingers reached automatically for his pack of Kents but found only lint. Stormy gray eyes swept the floor for the missing box. He didn't want any bloody sweets—what he needed was his nicotine high and some serious exercise. _And a good hex to wake me from this nightmare_, he added dryly. _Perhaps a girl…_

"Why did you stop practicing law?"

The simple question shook him from his reverie. "It ceased to appeal to me," he answered shortly.

"Ah yes… the ubiquitous thought that somewhere out in the universe there is an idyllic job just awaiting our attention." Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back and turned to circle the room counter-clockwise. "Well, have you found it?"

"Have I found what?" Whitney bit out as his eyes snapped to the window. The normally wild Whomping Willow had stilled, and if his eyes didn't deceive him, those were people were crawling up from the ground. He watched in amazement as two very familiar figures ran across the grounds hand in hand.

"Why your perfect career, of course!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Dragon Keeping is your profession, correct? Mr. Weasley just heaped praises about your skills." 

"I somehow doubt the accuracy of _anything_ Mr. Weasley said in regard to my skills. I would be willing to bet that his words were heavily laced with sarcasm." _It is them_, he breathed. _How the hell did they get that bitch of a tree to freeze like that?_

Dumbledore laughed appreciatively. 

Sighing, Whitney turned from the window and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. He was startled to realize that it was half past one in the afternoon. "Why hasn't Mr. Potter arrived by now? It's been hours." 

As if on cue, someone rapped firmly on the great door.

"Enter," boomed Dumbledore, his eyes solemn as he banished the wrapper to the waste bin. 

The door opened to reveal a tall young man holding an ancient looking woman by the arm. Behind the rather odd looking pair stood Professor Snape his dark eyes glittering dangerously. 

"Perhaps someone should go fetch Lupin and Black?" Severus prompted the quiet assembly.

"No need," Whitney called from his post at the window. "They're on their way up." 

For the moment, however, Harry led the woman Whitney assumed to be Mary McAllister to one of the high backed chairs and sat her gently down. The morning chill had completely evaporated causing the tower to warm slightly, and Harry hung up Mary's threadbare cloak, taking care to place her gloves in the pockets.

It was awkward, this disjointed group, and Whitney shifted uncomfortably as no one moved to break the silence. He knew, of course, who Harry Potter was, but he wondered if Harry knew who he was. Whitney glanced at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster seemed rather engrossed. Pale blue eyes were appraising Mary and seemed to linger about her hands. 

Just as he moved from the window, Harry stepped forward with a smile. "How do you do? Harry Potter."

"Howard Whitney. I'm fine, thanks." He smiled cautiously, his eyes narrowing at the calculated way in which Severus was staring at the two of them. "Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black are on their way."

With a yawn, Harry threw his own cloak over the back of one of the plaid chairs and settled himself comfortably, his long legs stretched before him. Dumbledore took a seat in the adjoining chair and leaned forward, his beard pooling in his lap. 

"How was your trip, Harry? Did you have any trouble accessing the apparating ports?"

"No. Everything was fine… Professor," Harry lowered his voice softy, "there's something a bit odd about her. I asked about Bridget like you instructed and I couldn't seem to get a straight answer from her. Based on the calculations Professor Snape sent in his letter, Mary should be about 81 years old and her daughter about 65. However, the Croatian Ministry couldn't recall ever meeting a non-Croatian woman around the age of her daughter. In fact, the Department Chair specifically said that—" He broke off as Dumbledore placed a warning hand on his arm.

The door opened and Remus and Sirius entered the room, their eyes searching for Harry. With a broad smile on his handsome face, Sirius crossed the room quickly and pulled Harry into a tight embrace. "It's good to see you." Harry returned the hug and smiled over his shoulder to Remus who stood to the side, waiting patiently as always. His golden eyes were filled with weariness but still managed to twinkle at the younger man.

"Welcome home, Harry," Remus said kindly. 

Once the introductions were completed, everyone took their seats at the table. Severus' face took on an unreadable expression as Sirius took the seat next to his. Remus sat on Sirius' other side, flanked to his left by Mary McAllister. Whitney, Minerva and Harry sat in the three seats opposite. Dumbledore presided over the strange gathering, a calming force in a room where earlier, tempers had escalated to astounding levels and words of the harshest caliber had been exchanged. 

"Before Harry and Mary begin, I would like to say something," Sirius spoke up. Everyone turned and stared at him. Remus gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. "Since I made my accusations in public, I feel it only right to make my apologies in public as well." Whitney stared at him. "Whitney, I apologize for anything I may have said yesterday and this morning. It was very indecent of me to accuse you of having an ulterior motive. I was wrong and I apologize," he finished stiffly.

Whitney was flabbergasted. He swallowed once and nodded. "Apology accepted, Mr. Black." His gray eyes darted between the half scowl half smile on Sirius' face and the small smile on Remus'. "I, too, would like to say that I am sorry for my outburst as well. You are both dealing with a situation I have had the fortune to never find myself in, and it was wrong of me to add insult to injury."

Silence fell as Sirius nodded his acceptance. Slowly, two hands extended across the table, one large, brown and strong, the other equal in size but paler in color. Both men shook firmly then quickly dropped hands. Harry knew nothing of what had transpired before his arrival and could only guess that his godfather's hotheadedness had once again got the better of him. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward and began.

"Everyone, this is Mary McAllister. She has kindly stepped forward to assist in your case, Remus, and is willing to testify about werewolf parenting."

A tiny lady, no larger than some of the smallest first-years, blinked blue eyes behind round spectacles. Silver locks of gray hair framed her face, and she gripped her hands together as if the act itself would still her trembling. Frail in appearance, she was of the type who looked as if she had been the victim of one too many ineffective killing curses. All were typical signs of a person long suffering from lycanthropy, perhaps, but in Remus' estimation she seemed a bit… different. 

"Mrs. McAllister?" She turned towards Whitney. "Where is your daughter?"

"Bridget stayed behind on the continent. She's addled and can't leave the house."

Frowning slightly, Whitney taped the recording quill. "If it's alright?" he asked with a quick glance at the occupants of the room. "Mrs. McAllister, when did you and your daughter flee Britain?"

Still gripping her hands, Mary's eyes glazed over slightly as she thought about her response. "It was 1940—I was living in London at the time. Bridget's father had already left us. I suppose when he found out about my curse he decided that being saddled with a wife who was a werewolf would cause too many difficulties in his career," she said sourly. "Bridget was born that fall, lycanthropy free, I might add. But did the Ministry care? No—all they could see was that I had gone against Ministry sanctions and wanted to kill her, and in order to save my daughter I fled. We've never come back."

Minerva released a horrified gasp while Severus sucked in his breath. Harry watched as Remus, like Dumbledore, seemed rather preoccupied with her hands. 

"Where on the continent have you been hiding—we won't report your whereabouts to the Ministry, ma'am," Whitney hastened to reassure her. In the spirit of fair play, Sirius swallowed a rude comment and awaited Mary's answer. 

Mary threw Harry a disgruntled look. "You didn't say that I'd be interrogated."

"Ma'am, we're just trying to familiarize ourselves with your background, that's all. I'm sure Mr. Potter's briefed you on the circumstances and that you understand the urgency of the situation," Whitney explained in his best solicitor's voice. In his experience, women always melted when he turned on his charm. A flush rose to his cheeks as he realized Mary wasn't going to play his game. He felt all at once small and without integrity. 

Sirius lifted an eyebrow at the younger man's discomfort. Personally he didn't understand why she was being difficult, but realized quickly that they had a problem on their hands if she wouldn't even cooperate after only two questions. Before he could say anything, Mary spoke.

"So, what do they do nowadays to werewolf parents? Do they still chop off their heads?"

Pointedly ignoring her question, Remus laid his forearms across the table, his fingers splayed for examination. "Harry," he began, "a sign of a person with lycanthropy is that the skin turns translucent over the years. Do you remember?" Harry nodded, glancing down at Remus' pale skin. "Okay—I want you to take a good look at Mary's hands." All eyes riveted towards the objects. Even Mary dropped her own eyes and began to examine her flesh curiously. 

A dawning comprehension struck Harry, and he jerked backwards in his seat, as far away from the woman as possible. _And to think I held her in my arms when we apparated! _

"Well, I think you can see why it's impossible for this woman who claims to be Mary McAllister to actually be who she says she is. The Mary McAllister from the records says she was born in 1924 and gave birth in 1940—as an already infected werewolf. That would make her 81 today."

"So?" Mary snapped. "What does that prove?"

"There has never been a werewolf of your age with cream-colored unlined flesh."

Silence.

"Who _are_ you?" Harry sputtered furiously. "The documentation—the Croatian Ministry led me in your direction—you're one of the followers of the recent insurrection. God, it all lines up perfectly!"

Remus leaned forward urgently, "Harry, you don't think it's odd that it was so easy to track her down? You don't feel at all surprised that she so readily agreed to come back to England—to a place she fled over half a century ago?"

"Are you suggesting some type of polyjuice potion? Is that what you're thinking?"

"Possibly, among other things," Remus frowned. "I just have this feeling that this Mary McAllister is not the same woman that fled back in the 40s. And I can't imagine her becoming a part of fringe society—certainly not part of an insurrection like the one you speak of. All signs point towards a woman in search of freedom from persecution—in search of a place her daughter would be safe. A woman like that would hardly join a faction that values waste of life and cruelty." 

"How do you know all this?" asked a poor confused Whitney. Remus handed him Harry's letter. Within seconds, Whitney cast a binding spell. 

Harry felt a pang of self-anger at Remus' words and hated the imposter Mary with every fiber of his being. He felt duped. Sirius' blue eyes had morphed into inky black. "Professor—did you know?"

"Yes, Harry, I knew. I knew the minute you said you were returning with her." Harry wanted to curl up into a little ball of embarrassment. To think he prided himself as an all-important Auror!

"She didn't even offer to bring Bridget…" he mumbled.

"Come again, Harry?" Remus asked.

"I said at the time she didn't even offer to bring Bridget. I should have known! Look at all the time we wasted while the real Mary's still out there somewhere, god knows where, and I've got us an imposter!"

"Harry," said the low voice of his godfather. Harry jumped. "Think of it this way—we now know that Margaret's tentacles extend far beyond Macnair and Culpepper. She's a fucking monster, that woman." Remus nodded in agreement, hating and understanding far too well the look of self-recrimination in the younger man's eyes.

"Okay… okay then… well, someone should keep an eye on her—play her game, perhaps? Keep up the pretense so Margaret thinks she has the upper hand?" Harry's mind worked frantically, and for a moment, he felt a twinge of empathy towards Hermione and her poor overworked brain. Remus' smile encouraged him further. "And I'll ask the Division for permission to do some reconnaissance work—that way Margaret doesn't know I've gone back. Oh, and Professor, you were right—originally, that is—the Croatian Ministry approached _me_ by using her—I didn't approach them. I was just so excited by her name that I didn't even stop to think."

"It's okay," Sirius said gruffly. "It's probably better this way."

Remus caught Severus' glance for the first time since the start of the conversation. Their eyes met briefly and an understanding sparked between the two men. Quick as a flash, Severus raised Mary from her seat and strode to the door, her prone form floating before him. 

"I'm taking her to the dungeon. I'll find out what type of concealment charm she is using." 

"But," Harry told them after the door closed. "If you think about it, it makes sense that Margaret would attack all the avenues—especially with Culpepper on her side and complete access to the Ministry files." He paused briefly. "Gads! I can't _believe_ you said the trial transcript was stolen! It's Macnair—it's that bloody little house elf of his. All the clues point in that direction. God we could use reconnaissance work at the Ministry, the IWPA, over at the Culpepper mansion…" 

"We have Cecilia at the IWPA—she's our eyes and ears. Hermione, Arthur and Percy are placing feelers at the Ministry, and Whitney's taking care of his grandfather—which won't really last that long if you think about it, Sirius, considering Margaret's attitude," Remus threw him a worried look. Whitney's expression was guarded as the two men turned to look at him. 

"Yeah, but real reconnaissance work…" Harry's eyes shone. 

Sirius laughed sharply. "It's delicate, you know that… besides, can you really trust anyone in the Division to go undercover for a project like this? Not everyone's sympathies lie where yours do."

Pondering the question, Harry began to pace the length of the room. "You're right, Sirius, it _is_ delicate. I don't know. I guess not."

Standing, Remus pushed back his chair. The atmosphere of the room was beginning to stifle him. The entire process so far was one step forward, ten steps backwards—and each backwards step caught them falling faster into Margaret and Macnair's lair. A small ball of panic was fast snowballing in the pit of his stomach. 

"Albus," Dumbledore looked up. "Do I have your permission to seek out Christian Huber? I would like to speak with him about his uncle."

Dumbledore nodded. "The sixth-years are just finishing Ancient Runes—you should be able to catch him in the south tour in a few minutes."

Remus hastened to the door, and with a vague sort of farewell, slipped away. 

**********

A billowy gust of wind ruffled the speckled flight feathers of the tiny owl perched on the window sill. He puffed up his chest in response and pulled his wings closer. Cecilia stroked the gray-blue breast in absentminded affection as she dipped her quill in the ink pot. 

"All right, Kavali, all right…" she murmured. She stared tiredly at the empty parchment from the exact position as yesterday—and as the day before, her eyes tracing Rorschach patterns amidst tiny drops of ink. Under normal circumstances, composing a letter directed towards a ward's recently discovered family member required nothing more than filling out the necessary paperwork and getting Margaret's authorization for temporary visitation rights. Kavali the indignant owl was wise—he was trained in the procedure: pick up the signed missive from unknown relative, deliver to Nurse Bracey in Ward 1, await return letter. Currently he paced back and forth across the window sill, his glinting yellow eyes observing the pensive way in which Cecilia dipped and re-dipped her quill. He stood puffy with indignation after spending two full nights in the confines of the building—a jail cell of sorts when just outside, night creatures were beckoning and calling his name. 

Cecilia ignored his persistent whoo-whooing and laid the quill down. Occupying the last cradle on the right side of the room was a child she had been so certain would never sleep in that bed again. Her eyes drifted slowly across the room as she mused about the letter that was to be delivered to an ancient relative of muggle blood who most certainly did not believe in magic of any type…or of werewolves for that matter. 

__

Guardianship Request Form

Name: Allister Dougray

Age: 75

Place of Residence: Felixstowe, England

Relationship to Child: Grandfather to Elizabeth Dougray

"Where did Margaret find him?" she asked aloud as a tiny unmoving picture fell from the letter. The colorful snapshot displayed a tall, elegant man wearing an old-fashioned bowler's hat and a three piece pin-striped suit. Twinkling violet eyes surrounded by million of wrinkles hinted at an internal zeal for life. Lips spread in an eager smile drew attention away from the angry scar slashed across his right cheekbone. It was a smile that spoke of warmth, of love, of an infinite type of kindness and affection unique to grandfathers. Cecilia wasn't sure how she managed to surmise all this from a muggle photo, but as she held his image in her hand she began to wish wholeheartedly for a man such as this to be her grandfather. And then she noticed Elizabeth had his eyes.

Coming to her feet, she walked to the sleeping child and stared at her for long moments. Grandfather and granddaughter… violet eyes… _family_. Until images of a man with golden eyes beaming with complete happiness and another man possessing jet black hair and a smile to charm even the driest of hags flashed in her mind, and her heart cried with pain. She understood what Margaret had instructed—what Margaret would insist on doing even if Cecilia couldn't complete the task—and she wanted to weep. For a moment, she wondered if life would be easier if she were cleverer or braver. She glanced down at her hands. Such simple parts of the bodies—she wriggled her fingers experimentally, noticing as she did how the individual knuckles rippled in unison, a fluid intricate rhythm of sorts. _Complexities are easily disguised_, she thought. _The movement of my hands looks so effortless, yet physiologically there's a scientific reason for everything. Why can't the definition of a family be so simple?_ Scowling, Cecilia noticed the shabby maintenance of her nails and cuticles and tucked her hands into her pockets. 

Elizabeth's little hand clenched the amore ball, her fingers refusing to loosen even in her sleep. Tears no longer rained unchecked from her eyes as they had two days ago when Margaret dropped her unceremoniously into Genevieve's surprised arms. Cecilia's forehead crinkled beneath her wimple as she lovingly stroked the downy cheeks. The Impedimenta Charm was used for daily tasks such as bathing and changing, but just this morning Genevieve fussed that if Elizabeth didn't eat soon she would have to set up a drip. The little girl simply lay in her crib, turning her head away at the slightest contact. Only during the release of sleep did she allow for Cecilia to touch her. 

The amore ball glowed red. 

Heaving a great sigh, Cecilia returned to her unenviable task. Many days had passed since her discovery of Margaret's Pensieve, and there was still no word from Mr. Lupin or Mr. Black. This in itself worried her, but when Elizabeth suddenly appeared back in Ward 1, her worried turned into alarm. The previous night she had sat up until dawn trying to compose a letter to Charlie Weasley that didn't come across as desperate or needy. That evening words were not her friends.

Charlie's reply lay unanswered on her writing desk. The slightly singed parchment smelled of old flames and charred wood. Charlie had responded in the negative to her request that he come to the IWPA under the pretense of viewing children and posed an equally dreadful alternative. _Diagon Alley_. A place she had not been for over 23 years. A setting riddled with fragments and ghosts of images—images of a silvery-white face with empty sockets for eyes, a stooped figure shrouded in a cloak of forest green, and two gnarled hands with curled yellow nails that in her nightmares were forever trying to touch her. 

Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach, and all of it was directed toward the red-haired man who had first bullied her into staying on at the IWPA and then bullied her into trespassing into Margaret's office. And now he was doing it again. _Damn him_, she raged unfairly, knowing full well that she had her own cowardice to blame.

__

Miss Bracey,

I refuse to participate in a charade that can harm innocent children. As a nurse of your caliber, I would have thought that you of all people would be horrified by the idea of creating false hopes in these children. I will however, agree to meet you at Diagon Alley at a mutually convenient time. My hours are irregular, but I can try to rearrange my schedule.

Charlie Weasley

Cecilia wanted nothing more than to crumple the letter and throw it into the fire. Such a pompous letter did not sit well with her, and she played briefly with the idea of skipping the meeting altogether. _Except,_ she realized bleakly, _Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black, and Elizabeth would be the unintentional pawns in the game._ She scribbled off an angry reply, noting the hour of tomorrow's break, and sent it off with Kavali who hooted in protest at the change in plans. 

"No--not Felixstowe, you silly bird, Ottery St. Catchpole. Go!" She pushed open the window, and Kavali flew through with a furious flapping of wings. She watched as the tiny owl became a small gray ball against the moors and then turned into a streak across the sky before dissolving into a dot and disappearing. The gnarled hand flashed across her mind briefly before she shoved her morbid thoughts aside and picked up her quill to begin composing the letter to Mr. Allister Dougray.

**********

Remus walked through the long corridors and managed to get caught on only one moving staircase. It was, however, with a big sigh of relief that he arrived at the south tower, the haven of Ravenclaws. He recalled with vague fondness his own Ancient Runes class—how he was the only one of the four Marauders to sign up for the notoriously challenging course—that is, until he made a snide remark about he being the only possessor of brains in the group. So it was with little surprise that Remus found himself accompanied by his three best friends that early September morning in 1977. 

He propped his shoulders against the stone wall and smiled affably at Sir Cadogon. "Back in your usual post, I see?" he teased. 

The little knight withdrew his sword and charged to the front of the portrait. "Professor Lupin! Good to see you, sir!" In his excitement the lid of his visor flipped forward concealing his eyes.

Biting back a chuckle in an attempt to keep a straight face, Remus glanced up the staircase. "Have you any idea, Sir Cadogon, when the Ancient Runes class is over?" 

"Ten minutes, my good man!" came forth the echoing voice from the confines of the helmet. "I'm off then, Professor Lupin! My damsel awaits me!" And without another word of farewell, the little knight dashed across the green lawn and disappeared from the portrait entirely. 

Almost ten minutes to the dot, students began to pour from the tower room. Remus pressed himself against the wall as they rushed past. In the middle of the crush, he made out Christian's dark brown hair. "Mr. Huber!" he called. 

Christian paused in the middle of his conversation with a boy with black hair. "Catch you in the common room, Clayton," he said as he weaved his way through the students. Remus watched as the boy named Clayton walked off with two others who patted Christian on the back and wondered briefly if those were the friends Dumbledore spoke of. 

"Mr. Lupin," Christian frowned. In the middle of the afternoon, out of his too- short pajamas, Christian looked every inch the aspiring Hogwarts' scholar. He shifted his feet nervously on the floor.

"How do you do, Mr. Huber?" Remus asked as he drew the boy to the side. He realized how nervous Christian seemed and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Do you have a moment when we might speak?"

"I've got a study group right now… but I guess I could miss it." His eyes darted towards the receding figures of his friends and he shifted his pack. "I know of an empty classroom where we can talk." 

Suppressing a small smile, Remus followed his lead through the maze of halls and noticed with amused surprise at the ease in which Christian seemed to navigate the passages. And then when they turned up at the entrance to the room the Marauders had discovered and he whispered the password, Remus' suspicions were confirmed. The Marauder legacy lived on.

"Doug found this room in our third year—technically it's off limits, but you know… all the good places get taken." He shrugged.

Ah yes, Remus _did_ know, and it was with vast amusement that he remembered what it really meant when all the good places were taken. As he followed Christian into the abandoned classroom, a quick glance told him all he needed to know. It seemed that over the decades many students had found out about the room if the carvings in the woodwork were any indication. 

His eyes went immediately to the upper left hand corner of the first window, and he saw with satisfaction that no one had carved over the initials. The SB and RL were still quite noticeable, and he blushed as he remembered how Sirius had wanted to dig the grooves even deeper and paint them cherry red. How Sirius had teased him for days!! Calling him a scaredy wolf until the younger version of himself had grabbed the knife from his laughing mate and carved the initials—five centimeters deep, mind you. It was with grim satisfaction that he had jumped back to the floor, shook his hair from his eyes, and asked the black haired boy what he thought of _that_. And how Sirius had laughed… and laughed…until laughter turned to tears and two boys trained to act as men had collapsed on top of each other, neither one noticing or caring the way the tears mixed in with the saliva as they kissed.

Christian had long since taken a seat on one of the cushions littering the floor, and Remus dropped down across from him. "Christian, I want you to tell me about your uncle." 


	14. Hope's Mask

Chapter 14

            _A long rolling bellow burst forth from the coal-black funnel atop deck, filling the sky with smog like residue.  There were three of these on the ship, fat cylindrical smokestacks that screamed as the vessel was pushed out to sea with the aid of the tugboats.  At the close of the 20th century there were very few people who chose the waterway as their means of traveling between __Germany__ and __England__.  However, in commemoration of the great ship's 100th anniversary, the Queen Jane was put to sea for a final voyage set to last a full week at knots of a comfortable pace._

_            As a bit of twist on the everyday naval uniform, the captain and his crew wore the clothing of the late 19th century sailor, complete with stripes representing rank and jaunty caps.  Climbing his way up deck, Dietmar Huber thought that if he never smelled the wet wool of a pea coat again he would die a happy man.  As it was, he felt disgusted with himself for even listening to his flat mate's prattle about what a fantastically exciting chance this would be, and wouldn't Dietmar be a pal and bring him back a hat?  As he leaned against the railing and watched as the murky brownish green water stretched between the harbor and himself, he knew full well that one, the next time his flat mate suggested anything he deemed as "fantastically exciting" he would immediately do the complete opposite, and two, there was no way in hell he was going to go anywhere near the hat stand up on deck._

_            The idea of being fully entombed in the tiny little cabin for the next week with a bunk mate who smelled of vinegar made his eyes water.  Fortunately the full moon had just passed and he was wolf-free for the rest of the month.  However, his very bones still throbbed from the transformation, and five days later he was still unable to hold down much more than a bowl of soup.  He thought longingly of the lovely berths on the train and wrapped his muffler tightly about his neck.  _

_            Two days ago he had received a phone call from a doctor at St. Mungo's in __England__; a doctor who, in very cryptic tones, inquired about local apparating ports in __Germany__.  Whether it was his very poor German or the fact that the connection was a bit fuzzy, Dietmar had been certain that the call was a prank and promptly hung up.  He was a self-proclaimed professor of sorts—the type of man who rode the bus to work buttoned up to his neck in a plaid overcoat and carried an umbrella rain or shine.  If asked, the local university would say there was no Professor Huber, but that perhaps the maintenance supervisor in the chemistry department was the man in question.  So, the day the MediWizards had the unfortunate luck to call his home, Dietmar the maintenance man was at his wits end with sloppy, careless students and in no mood for pranks._

_            It had been years since he thought of __England__.  That cold, dreary island where the damp invaded your bones and a blanket of smog smothered the night stars.  Dietmar far preferred his __Germany__—the rolling hills lush with vegetation and forests, the quaint villages filled with reconstructed post-war architecture.  The German Hubers were a working class family, proud of their strong roots, and cleverly dependable if a bit dull.  They had no use for their wander-lust daughter who had packed up and married an Englishman who couldn't even speak the language and then spirited her away to that cold land.  Dietmar was seven years older than Veronica and a grown man when she left home.  He was a tall figure, erect of carriage, with golden wayward curls and cheeks rosy from pints he had started consuming when he was on the bottle.  His family depended on his joviality, and the university loved him for his eccentricities.  _

_            No one loved him as a werewolf, but then no one cared either.  The wolf was simply part of him—an intricate being sharing the same DNA—neither man nor beast complete without the other.  It had been this way for as long as the Huber family could recall.  Dietmar wasn't different, nor was he special.  Whatever oddities he possessed his mother would find a relative to blame.  Transformations were never spoken of, for Dietmar simply crawled into the cellar and listened as his father performed the necessary spells.  The next morning no one acted as if anything had happened.  It had been this way for twenty-nine years, and according to the Hubers, it would continue this way for twenty-nine more, and then twenty-nine after that.  Nothing spectacular, the werewolf was simply part of their lives.  _

_            Concealing Dietmar's condition from the German Ministry was a remarkably simple affair—records simply weren't maintained, and if the Hubers kept all unsuspecting individuals away from the house during full moons than the secret was safe.  No one at the county school had asked questions as it wasn't unusual for students to miss classes in order to help support the family.  Placing food on the table was far more important than education, and in this sleepy little town people kept to their own business._

_            So it was with great trepidation that Dietmar picked up the phone as it rang shrilly.  Thinking he would give the person a bit of his mind and then slam the receiver down, he yanked up the phone and barked hello.  He was not prepared to hear a sharp voice speaking German with a staccato-like pronunciation, nor was he ready to hear that his only sister, Veronica, and her husband were dead.  The woman with the harsh voice explained that they had left behind a child, a small boy of five years, and according to their will, Dietmar was now his guardian._

_            He gripped the phone until his knuckles were white.  Stammering, he asked the woman to repeat herself, and as she did, he ran a single thought through his mind, "My sister is dead.  My sister is dead."  Finally, he managed to ask the cause of death.  "Automobile accident."  Those two words hit him hard—like a the time one of the student's Bunsen burners had overheated the test tube and sprayed the both of them with burning liquid and shards of glass.  He wasn't even aware that he was waving away invisible glass particles.         _

_            His parents were away on holiday, but Dietmar knew that even if they had been present for the phone call they wouldn't have done anything, for they had never found it within their hearts to forgive her.  With a sinking feeling, he understood that he was responsible for his sister's burial…and for the child who had been left behind.  Realizing that the woman was still speaking, he forced himself to pay attention and asked for her name.      _

_            A wave of salt spray hit the deck as the tug boats pulled away from the ship.  They were floating alone in the __Baltic Sea__, taking the long route around __Denmark__ before heading into the __North Sea__.  There was no rush to get to __England__—his sister and husband's home had been a rental unit, and the British Ministry of Magic placed all their belongings into the bank vault for their son.  In fact, the child was in Ministry custody and was not to be released until a quarantine period was up.  Quarantine for what, Dieter was unsure, for it wasn't as if an automobile accident carried with it the threat of contagious disease.  He tried to remember the child's name, but his mind drew a blank.  Something with a "C" perhaps… He'd have to remember to look at the temporary release papers back in his berth—cabin, he reminded himself.  _

_            It was rather daunting, this thought of taking care of a child, and Dietmar was unsure if he were up to the task.  The woman on the phone, a Margaret something or another, had reassured him that there was to be a six-week trial period where at the end of the time if he felt unprepared to take on full responsibilities the child would return to the custody of the institution.  He released a small sigh of relief.  Six weeks wasn't forever.  The question of what he would do during his transformation didn't even occur to him.  Wolfsbane potion was readily available in __England__, and a five year old was certainly capable of sleeping the night through.      _

_            A small smile broke out on his face as he wondered what the child looked like.  Veronica had been a small petite woman with golden hair and a kind face—not pretty exactly, but very gentle.  He had never seen a picture of her husband.  He wondered what five year old children liked to do, but he couldn't seem to recall the details of when he was that age.  A small chemistry kit was in the bottom of his trunk, and he figured that several hours a day could be spent teaching the boy the general rules of potions and lab experiments.  And that way he could continue to work on his own project…  _

_            He jumped back with surprise as the hat vendor pushed his trolley past with a shout.  Fingering the coins in his pocket, he flipped them about for a minute, reveling in the sound metal made when it struck metal.  After a minute he withdrew a few franks and signaled for the man's attention.  Fingering the sailor's cap for a moment, he hesitated for a brief second before placing the hat on his head.  Leaning back against the rail, he could feel the salt spray sprinkle across his face.  It felt all at once refreshing, cleansing, and for a moment even purifying…   _

            "How do you remember all this?" Remus asked as Christian paused.

            A slim finger with an ink stain on its knuckle picked at burr in the rug.  He shrugged slightly.  "My uncle started a journal on his trip here."  Christian's brown eyes met Remus'.  "My uncle really hated England."

            Remus' laugh was rich with emotion—amusement, annoyance, self-recrimination—Christian couldn't put his finger on a single emotion and wondered for a moment if perhaps the tired man was laughing at him.  "I don't blame him," the laughing man said.  "Sometimes I'm not too fond of her either."

            Brown eyes widened almost imperceptibly.  He hadn't expected _that answer.  _

            _By the time the third day rolled around, Dietmar was certain that he was in hell.  All novelty of traveling on a one hundred year old ship had long since disappeared.  He restricted his use of magic to the hours his bunkmate was either absent or asleep, and right now that annoying chap was neither.  He was of the type who possessed an iron-clad stomach, impervious to the rocking of the ship.  In fact, the man could even read while chomping away on a nut bar.  Dietmar groaned loudly and with great length, hoping against hope that his sounds of abject misery would force the other man to seek quieter quarters.  Much to his dismay, he watched as a metal bucket was pushed his way with cheerful words of sympathy.  _

_            Dietmar was certain it wouldn't be long until he joined Veronica and her no-name husband in the afterlife._

_            And so it continued.  Dietmar never left his cabin, and his bunk mate, thinking that the sick man needed company, left him only out of necessity.  He had even taken to eating in the room much to the displeasure of Dietmar's stomach.  Finally the day arrived when the ship docked in Dover, and as Dietmar climbed shakily out of his bunk, he notice the sailor cap sitting on the floor.  With a snarl, he kicked it across the room so that it landed in the slop bucket.  Feeling as if a bit of the edge had left him, he checked to make sure his truck was in order and noticed ruefully that he had worn a single pair of pajamas the entire time.  He changed quickly into outdoor clothes, pulled on his outer robes, and wadded the soiled clothes into a ball.  The clothes quickly joined the hat in its sad demise.  Ignoring the questioning looks that came from his bunk mate, Dietmar bid him farewell, thanked him for his kind assistance and left the hellish ship.  _

_            Solid ground had never felt so wonderful, and Dietmar had to nearly force himself to stay standing, so great was his desire to collapse on the ground and feel the unmoving earth under his cheek.  He glanced about, noting the bus line that would take him to the train station.  Wondering how he was going to negotiate his way about using his five words of English, he looked about for help.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught the movement of black robes and rushed forward with surprising agility for a man who had been bedridden for seven days straight.  It was to be the stroke of luck he needed, for not only did the people belong to the Wizarding community, they were also German and heading to __Bristol__, the city where his sister had lived._

_            Fortune's fancy refrained from playing tricks on Dietmar for the duration of the trip, and as the train sped along the countryside to __London__, he found it possible to relax.  The family he met was the chatty sort, full of news and very inquisitive.  Being kind, they insisted that he and the child stay at their home until he procure suitable living arrangements, and when the mother discovered that Dietmar had absolutely no experience with children she refused to take no for an answer.  So, in a matter of minutes, Dietmar had found a translator, a home, and friends, and suddenly the whole idea of meeting a child of his own blood didn't seem nearly as dreadful.  Still… he couldn't say that he was looking forward to it. _

_            Upon arriving in Diagon Alley, Dietmar and the German family parted ways, promising to meet up the evening.  With a quick glance around, Dietmar made his way into the Leaky Cauldron and removed from his pocket a small pouch of special floo powder Margaret had owled him.  After a few pints to calm his nerves, he realized that the connection to the Infant Wizard Protection Agency would only be open a few minutes longer.  Dashing to the gigantic brick fireplace, he pushed his way through the after work crowd.  A few seconds later he disappeared into the green blue flames, uncertain if he had said the Infant Wizard Protection Agency or the Wizard Infant… or the Infant Protection…_

_            Tumbling to the ground, Dietmar choked on the dark gray ash that seemed to fill his lungs and his nostrils simultaneously.  Experimentally he tried to swallow but found that it only forced more ash into his mouth.  Curiously he wasn't burning yet, but he realized that it would be wise to remove his body from the flames.  He rubbed as much ash off his face as possible and managed to take a peek into the room.  _

_            Standing directly in front of him was a tall woman with steel gray hair swept up into a severe bun.  Holding tight to her hand—or perhaps she was holding onto his hand—was a small boy with big brown curls and eyes that looked remarkably like pools of melted chocolate.  There was no real expression on his face—he neither looked scared nor interested—and he kept his lips perfectly straight.  The woman introduced herself as Margaret Lancaster, instructed the child to greet his uncle, and then led Dietmar to her metal desk to complete the paperwork.  In a matter of minutes, the formalities were completed, Dietmar was instructed as to the bi-weekly caseworker visits, and the child, Christian, was officially his.  A small suitcase sat next to the fireplace embossed with gold initials: __CH._

_            Dietmar knelt next to the small boy and balanced himself on his feet, rocking back and forth slightly.  He felt an unexpected bubble of pride as he realized that this child, this boy who took after his father in looks, was also a Huber, part of his flesh and blood.  Dietmar knew in that instance what it meant to feel proud.  He didn't know if he loved this child, couldn't really tell if they would even get along, but he did know without a doubt that he had never been more amazed by his sister—by the gift Veronica had delivered to the world.  And in that moment he forgave her for everything.  Slowly he extended his large hand, palm side up in an act of giving, not taking, and Christian seemed to recognize the action, placing his own small paw into his uncle's warm one.  After a second, ten fingers began to curl, one by one, until small digits met with large ones, and empty hands became joined.  There was no need for words, for reassurances of trust or for empty promises of happiness.  It was simply about being, about belonging._

_            That very first night, the German family seemed to sense a need, a desire, so when it came time to retire for the night, Dietmar and Christian were shown to a single room with one bed.  Dietmar knew the child balanced on the edge of the bed was observing him as he pulled on his long striped pajamas.  He sensed without looking that the bed sheets had been folded down and could tell instinctively when the child had crawled under the covers.  After several minutes, during which time he needlessly organized the already neat piles of clothes in his trunk, Dietmar turned to climb into the bed.  With a start he realized that the child was already asleep, one hand tucked under a pale cheek.  As he pulled the blankets up to his chin, he said a soft prayer of thanks for the solidness of the room.  _

_            Just as his eyes grew heavy and threatened to close for good, he felt the pressure of a soft body move up against his left arm.  He stilled, uncertain as to what to do.  After a moment he relaxed, thinking the child had simply rolled over, but then he felt it—the slow feathery touch of padded fingers, the caress of a child's hand.  He felt his own fingers being splayed as a tiny hand moved forward, seeking his warmth and strength.  And so they slept that way for the entire night, hand in hand, and when he woke, Dietmar found brown curls nestled on the pocket of his pajama shirt as soft snores filled the room.     _

            "You love him very much," Remus said quietly. "I can see his strength in you."

            It was as if those gently spoken words cut through the haze surrounding the boy, and he looked up, almost as if he were surprised to see someone sitting in the room with him.  Dusk falls early in Scotland and already the sky was an artist's pallet.  Through the rotation of the earth, the two men could sense a great passing in time, therapeutic in its healing.  The ticking of a clock would have broken up the natural pulse of the earth, and the starkness of the wounds surrounding the boy's heart would have remained as such—raw and jagged at the ends, poisonous little barbs. 

            But with each word, as each sentence was strung together, and each utterance fell on ears open to understanding and capable of withholding judgement, a miraculous change took place.  Christian smiled.

            "I feel better," he said with carefully measured words, almost as if he were afraid that if he uttered them everything would fall into reverse.  "I do," he said in a voice rich with strength.  "I really do feel better."

            Remus nodded slowly, his golden eyes, objects Sirius had once called the windows into his soul, filled with understanding.  He offered no pity, just a sense of reassurance.  The hardest part of the story was yet to come, and while he didn't dread the telling, he feared for the repercussions.  In the beginning he had said nothing more than, "Tell me about your uncle," and suddenly there was this outpouring of emotion told through the third person, like a dam bursting forth when before there were only fissures in the walls.  He was aware, however, that Christian never spoke of his own emotions in relation to his uncle, and that everything was told through the older man's eyes.

            Remus could feel Dietmar… if he closed his eyes he could almost hear his voice coming forth from the lips of a sixteen year old.  He had been thirty years old when the axe fell, so young, so full of vibrancy.  Remus swallowed his sorrow.  It wasn't his turn to grieve… and yet there was an element of himself that he shared with the deceased man… a bond that above and beyond linked them through the love of a child.

            _For the next five months Dietmar and Christian managed to forge a unique friendship. Through Christian's photo albums Dietmar met Veronica's husband, a laughing man by the name of Evan.  It was obvious to everyone that Christian had adored his father, and while Dietmar knew very little of bicycling and fishing, he could share his love of experiments with the boy.  Soon Christian became an avid fan of potion making, often volunteering to run out to the garden to collect specimens from the dirt—and suddenly the elements of the earth took on names and associations, mica and granite became more than just rocks.  _

_            It was calming, Dietmar thought, this strange sense of camaraderie as he observed the manner in which the boy carefully ground flobberworms in an old stone mortar and pestle.  They smiled very little and spoke even less, but despite this they were never wanting, never lacking.  When the wolf came to visit each month, Dietmar knew that Christian understood with the unprejudiced eyes of a well loved child that he was to stay upstairs in his bedroom until the cuckoo chimed seven times.  Dietmar only knew through the wolf that Christian would sneak out of bed to crawl on hand and knee to the cellar door, for the wolf could smell the warm scent of the child's face pressed against the boards of the door.  The animal whined in distress, it teeth bared in anger at its man-made prison.  The human part of Dietmar would have arranged for the boy to stay with the German family during his transformations, but somehow he knew that being a werewolf in __England__ was not the same as being one in __Germany__ and he kept silent.  So Christian stayed in the house during full moons, and every morning he would creep back up the stairs before the cuckoo chimed to warm his bed.  It was a little game between the boy and the wolf.           _

_            Dietmar realized at last how easy it was to love somebody who loved you unconditionally._

_            On Christian's sixth birthday, Dietmar arranged with the German family he had befriended on his way from __Dover__ to throw a bonanza at the local park.  They invited every child of their acquaintance in addition to several random ones they saw in the street that day.  He watched with pride as his nephew pranced gleefully across the square on one of the rental ponies, and he realized he was ready to ask the child for a very special gift.  That evening, after a small tummy was charmed with an anti-indigestion spell, Dietmar gathered Christian into his arms and told him to put down his toy and pay attention.  In a solemn voice thick with his German accent, he asked the child if he would like to call him father.  Christian's eyes widened as the words registered, and then he flung his arms around Dietmar's neck and squeezed and squeezed, saying nothing through words but everything through his embrace.  _

_            The next day marked the end of the sixth month trial period and with it came the final case worker visit.  Dietmar dressed Christian and himself in their best dress robes and sat on the couch to wait.  At the stroke of twelve, just as Christian began to kick the table with pent-up energy, the front door bell rang.  Giddy with happiness and feeling the calm assurance of success, Dietmar opened the door.  Standing out front were three people—Margaret Lancaster, a very young nurse with dark hair, and a man with a hideously deformed face which had the appearance of one who had been under the knife many times.  Dietmar struggled not to stare at him as he invited them inside.  After strained introductions, Dietmar watched with some confusion as the young nurse by the name of Genevieve walked into the living room and asked Christian to get his outer robes.  For a moment he wondered if they were returning to the IWPA for the formalities.  _

_            However, as Dietmar went to retrieve his own robes, Margaret moved to stop him.  Dietmar realized at that moment there were certain universal truths about good and evil and that in this instance the line between the two was razor-sharp in clarity.  There was no blurring of the two as his nostrils filled with the pungent odor of hatred.  In what seemed a foggy haze of disjointed events and fractured proceedings, Dietmar could hear the steady droning of charges being read but all he could truly recall was hearing Margaret accuse him of being a werewolf while watching Genevieve cover Christian's ears.  As Dietmar watched Christian struggle to break free, his own body moved as a man in water, each motion sluggish and heavy, his only thought being that he must reach his son.  He was but a few meters away when the front door blew open and an innumerable amount of men wearing dark robes and head coverings broke into his house and threw curses at him, rendering him immobile.  He was horror struck, not for himself for certainly this was a mistake, but for Christian—Christian who had never cried before him over the death of his parents was crying now… great big frightened sobs that racked his little frame._

            "And then…" it was with considerable effort that Christian managed to say the next words.  "My uncle screamed in broken English because, you see, whenever he was nervous or upset he would forget his words.  He said, 'Nein nein, dast ist meine Sohn, meine Sohn.'  And that was it.  They took him away… and killed him."

            It was completely dark outside, but between the lead window panes Remus could see a sprinkling of stars as they began to form in the night sky.  The stars in Scotland always seemed to burn like dots of white fire with far more brilliance than the ones in the south of England.  Standing, Remus pushed aside the pillow he had been holding in his lap and motioned for Christian to follow him.  They walked in silence to the window, and with a graceful, fluid arm movement, Remus dissolved the glass.  Cool whispers of wind circled about their faces cooling flushed skin like a murmured caress of comfort.   

            Silently Remus reflected on the true meaning of being a lycanthrope, and he thought of werewolves before him and of the inevitable werewolves that were yet to be born, and he trembled.  Some called it a curse, others a tragedy, but no one aside from a handful of people whose hearts were as large as their ever accepting minds thought of it as fate.  He didn't know if he were one of these people.  Dietmar Huber seemed to be—he embraced his differences without recrimination, without self-loathing, and through the words of his son he appeared to have found a way to truly love himself.  Best of all he had taught his son well, for there was nothing in Christian's eyes that spoke of fear or hatred.   

            Remus had struggled with this paradox for more decades than he was willing to remember and wondered if perhaps this young man standing next to him was a gift…a message from the being that spun the wheels of fate, chiding him for wallowing in doubt and self-pity for so long.  

            _But I haven't, he argued, __I have grown to love myself._

            _Have you truly?  Or do you work to convince yourself of the fact?_

            Placing a tentative hand on Christian's shoulder, Remus felt the subtle strength in the boy's posture, in the way he carried himself, and by the way he spoke of his uncle without hysteria.  Remus was reminded of himself.  For years, first his parents, then James, Sirius, and Peter, and many of the professors had all thought him to possess an insurmountable amount of courage simply because he held himself to the highest of standards in an attempt to conceal what he was.  In appearance he was a man, stoic and without emotion, but inside he supposed that perhaps he had never really matured… for how can someone exist as one thing and yet never grow to love himself?  _Perhaps that's what this all is, he thought with puzzled certainty, __a test of sorts… one of which I have failed miserably.  Resignation is not the same as strength.  Acceptance is not the equivalent of love.  Patience does not make a man wise._

            Remus wondered how Dietmar had learned to adjust, wondered if perhaps he were still alive today if they might have become friends.  They shared a unique bond, one that would draw them close—perhaps closer than he could ever be with Sirius no matter how strong Sirius' attempts to understand.  While Remus would never wish for Sirius to have the power to fully comprehend—would rather die before it happened—the thought of his wonderful mate never being connected with him in such a way created a puzzling sensation in his heart… a throbbing of sorts.  Perhaps… perhaps he begrudged Sirius' perfection just a bit… perhaps if he were able to glance inside he would find a tiny section of his heart to be black with jealousy.  

            "Mr. Lupin," Christian began, noticing that Remus' hand hadn't moved for a long while and wondering if he were ever going to speak.  "Are you… are you okay?"

            Deep, long, healing breaths filled Remus' lungs as he closed his eyes, his outstretched hand balancing the trembling in his legs.  "Mistakes are the portals of discovery," he murmured.  "James Joyce," he said by way of explanation.  

            "I don't think I know who he is."

            "Yes, well he was a brilliant man—slightly crazy, mind you, but nevertheless an extraordinary thinker.  I sometimes think that the education you receive here is somewhat stilted—you only learn what is useful in the magical world.  What about literature?  Poetry?  The history of the man we call a mere Muggle?"

            Christian was confused but continued to listen, thinking perhaps that this man next to him was one of those who rambled abstract thoughts to make a point.  

            Remus turned to face him and looked him carefully in the eyes.  "It doesn't matter that you don't know who James Joyce is.  It's something that he said that reminded me of myself… and of your father.  What do you think he meant by this: Mistakes are the portals of discovery?"

            "I… I don't know… perhaps that if you strive to know yourself—to really understand the rhyme and reasoning of your functioning—you have to embrace your mistakes, the events in your life that don't go as planned.  Because, I'm thinking, how can you truly know yourself—what you love, your passions, your fears, what makes you angry… how to be humble… if you have never fallen."

            "Exactly," Remus smiled kindly at him, his eyes twinkling from within dark shadows.  "You _are a Ravenclaw, aren't you?  Christian, I have made the mistake of fearing myself…of hating something that is such a part of me we share the same blood chemistry.  Your father, something within him allowed for a type of harmony between the man and the wolf, and with this discovery he was able to love himself.  Can you imagine what it is like to hate a part of yourself with such thoroughness that you begin to believe every hateful thing ever said about you?  That you begin to believe yourself unworthy?"_

            Christian shook his head.  He only knew what it felt like to long for something, but perhaps this is what Mr. Lupin meant in his strange round-about way.  

            "Ah… perhaps not."  Remus stilled, his hands quiet at his side as the wind caught the hairs at the back of his neck and swirled them about.  "Well, I do.  I was very small when I received my bite, and while I had people who loved me unconditionally I found it very hard to love myself.  I tried so hard not to pity myself, nor to accept pity from others, but in doing so I masked my true emotions.  By proving to everyone that I was strong meant that it was all a charade—to truly be strong one just _is… one doesn't have to put on the face.  That was my mistake, Christian, and I suppose it shall be __my portal to discovery."_

            Suppressing the strange urge to hug Mr. Lupin—an outward display of affection he showed no one—Christian simply held out his hand.  It was the best he could do, and he wondered if the other man would understand; that is if he, Christian, understood himself.

            Remus looked at his outstretched hand curiously, questioning what it was that Christian was offering—and then he knew... without a doubt, and he took hold and squeezed.  "Thank you," he murmured, soft melodic words that acted as a soothing balm to the scared surface of Christian's heart.  In telling Dietmar Huber's story, Christian had released the part of him that had laid dormant in his mind for so long—festering and morphing into something dark and unwieldy.  By offering the words to Remus, he unknowingly gave the older man a gift more precious than the best intended words of comfort; he gave him hope.  Not hope in the sense that a positive outcome was sure to arise from this horrid chain of events Remus found himself in, but hope in the sense that he would finally be able to fully love himself, just as Dietmar had.

            With the kindest, gentlest of looks, Remus pulled Christian into a gruff hug and held him tightly against his chest, their two heartbeats pounding together as an eternity of healing began.  After a minute, Remus released him and stepped back.  Neither man cried—tears would have been too clichéd—but both smiles wavered slightly at the corners.

            "Come," Remus smiled as he replaced the glass panes.  "Let me walk you to the Great Hall.  You must be hungry."

            Christian nodded.  "I am," he said with a bit of a grin.  "Yeah… I think I could eat."              

**********

            Harry was livid.  He pressed his chest against the back of his chair and snapped his gum.  "Well?" he called out impatiently to Severus.

            "These things take time." Severus' cool voice grated on Harry's nerves as he set the front legs of the chair to the floor with a bang.  He stood and ran a hand through his wild hair.  If he turned around and looked at that woman one more time he wasn't quite sure if he would be able to keep his temper in check.  As it was, he had plenty of time to think of the exact words he would say to this imposter—none of them very pleasant.

            The dark grayness of Severus' chambers did little to alleviate the bleak atmosphere swirling in the room.  To Harry's left was Whitney who stood watching Severus and Mary, his face an impassive.  Harry smiled smugly as he watched Whitney light another fag in complete defiance to Severus' commands and wondered about this man Remus and Sirius had retained as their barrister.   From first impressions he couldn't help but be impressed with anyone who dared to defy Severus Snape.  He played briefly with the idea of slapping his back and congratulating him but then thought better of it when the blonde man's cold gray eyes met his.  Howard Whitney didn't appear to be the sort who would appreciate such a casual gesture.   

            A low groan emerged from Severus' workspace, and Harry, Sirius and Whitney crossed the room quickly.  The imposter Mary McAllister sat prone in her chair, her eyes staring blankly towards the middle of Severus' robes—the after-effect of one too many anti-concealment charms.  Finally, it appeared as if Severus had made progress, as with the slow precision of metamorphosis, layers of age began to peel away from the body of the woman.  

            For something that should have been ugly, Harry was transfixed by the way her harsh lines melted then contracted into smooth expanses of flesh.  Sagging skin retrieved its old elasticity and snugly hugged cheek bones.  From the base of her silver head spread a pool of dark brown color, rich and vibrant as it made its way down individual strands of hair.  The woman writhed in her chair as tiny fragile limbs cracked and creaked, each bone stretching and elongating back into their original length.  Sirius, who was privy to countless transformations of man to animal, watched in amazement as the anti-age potion took effect and time appeared to reverse itself.      

            Before them was a woman frozen as if paralyzed with fear, her face a blank empty canvas of emotion, her cobalt blue eyes expressionless.  Severus tilted her head back and pried open her tense lips.  He emptied the final drops into her mouth and sat back on his haunches to await the final steps of the transformation.  With a sharp cough, the woman buckled forward and vomited onto the floor.  Harry turned his head away from the sight, but it was too late, the black bile running from the corners of her mouth set his own stomach churning.  He took several deep breaths through his mouth and pressed his hands to his knees.

            When the sounds of retching ceased, Harry turned about to see the end results of Severus' work.  Sirius waved his hand and Harry moved to stand next to him.  She was really quite lovely, this woman, with her large blue eyes and curls of brown hair framing a timelessly elegant face.  Her white-tipped nostrils flared with an emotion bordering between anger and fear, while her chilly gaze penetrated each man.  Harry surmised her to be around sixty-years of age—still relatively young for a witch—and wondered what Margaret and Culpepper had promised in exchange for her cooperation.

            Sirius stepped forward and knelt next to Severus.  The two dark-haired men presented a formidable picture, but the woman seemed oblivious to their threats.  She was a picture of impassiveness, a true enigma.  

            "Explain why you're here," Whitney ordered.

            She glanced down at Severus briefly then looked away.

            Patiently, Whitney tried again.  "Tell us who you are."

            Harry growled with impatience.  "Use the Veritaserum, Professor Snape."         

            Severus' dark eyes flashed as he scrutinized the woman.  "You don't work for Lancaster or Culpepper, do you?"

            Harry's eyes snapped to his former professor in surprise.  _Certainly she did!  "Professor," he said in dismay.  "Surely you're mistaken—"_

            Severus held up his hand for silence.  "You heard about the inquiries being made at the Croatian Ministry, didn't you?  You stepped forward before they could contact your mother."

            "Professor, this is ridiculous!" Harry shouted.

            "You're protecting her, aren't you?  She's old, frail, and terrified about coming to England.  This is how you help her—you pose as Mary, or as Mary's old companion, and no one at the Ministry has ever guessed the truth—that the eighty year old woman acting as Mary's nurse is really her daughter."  In a very uncharacteristic move, Severus reached out and placed his hands on top of hers.  "You're frightened, but you don't have to be anymore."

            Harry had never heard his former professor speak in such a way—why he almost sounded kind.  He crossed his arms and waited, not entirely convinced that she was as innocent as Severus proclaimed.  It was laughable, really, the way Professor Snape insisted on babying her.    

            Bridget's face barely moved a muscle as she spoke.  "I _am Bridget McAllister."_

            "You—you can't be!" Harry protested in disbelief.

            Bridget's eyes snapped.  "And why can't I be, young man?"

            "Because it's not feasibly possible!  The Ministry assured me that there was no one fitting your description in Croatia," Harry stated firmly, ignoring Severus' earlier explanation. 

            Folding her arms across her chest, Bridget rolled her eyes in exasperation.  "Are you a wizard or aren't you?" she asked irritably.  Severus' eyes widened perceptibly and he stared at her with something akin to admiration.  

            Harry caught his look and frowned.  _You would like someone who tries to put me in my place, he growled.  Taking a deep breath, he struggled to understand.  "Okay, suppose you are Bridget like you say—why are you here impersonating your mother?"  He threw a pleading glance at Sirius who had remained strangely silent through this whole exchange.  _

            Slowly Sirius stepped forward and stared at the woman.  "Explain yourself."

            "I thought I told you why she's doing this," Severus snapped.  

            "Let Bridget speak for herself," Sirius said coolly.  "I don't want speculations—I want the truth."

            Rising to her feet, Bridget pushed past the two men kneeling at her feet and walked over to Whitney.  "Can I have one?" she asked, pointing to his pack of Kents.  Whitney smiled faintly and handed her a fag.  Bridget reached into her robes to withdraw her wand before Whitney had a chance to light her fag.  She shrugged aside his assistance and took a long, full drag.  Exhaling, she turned to face the small assembly, noting the snapping green eyes coming from a face determined to believe the worst of her.

            "What you have to understand, gentlemen, is that my mother has lived in fear of your Ministry for as long as I can remember.  There is nothing to forgive or understand about a werewolf who breaks the law, and she knows that.  The Croatian Ministry is known in the underground werewolf community as being one of the safe havens for fugitives."  Here she paused as if considering her words.  "My mother is deathly afraid that someone would discover where she fled, and so she has, for the past sixty-one years, made an aging potion for me that I take anytime I leave the house.  Only she—_only she," she repeated firmly, "has seen me as my true self.  In answer to your question, Mr. Potter, the Croatian Ministry doesn't know of my existence because we registered ourselves as a single woman and her traveling companion."_

            Bridget came to stand next to Harry, and he was vastly surprised to realize she was at eye level with him.  "My mother is dying," she said bluntly.  "She is of no condition to travel anywhere—not that I would allow her to do so—but she does know of your problem."  Here she turned to look at Sirius.  "She offers her sympathies but apologizes for not being able to help you.  I am here to present her apology and to beg you to leave us alone."

            "Leave you alone?" Sirius' voice cracked as her words settled in the room.  

            "I'm sorry, truly sorry, Mr. Black, but I cannot allow you to frighten my mother.  She's had a difficult life and I don't want to see her in anymore pain." Bridget's voice was gentle but firm.  "Mr. Potter," she turned back to Harry and frowned at the way his eyes shot barbs of hatred towards her.  "I can assure you, Mr. Potter that I am not working in cooperation with this Lancaster person you speak of.  I've never heard of someone by this name, and from what I can judge by all of your reactions, I certainly don't want to."

            "But—"

            "No, not another word, Mr. Potter.  Now, if I may—England doesn't agree with me, and I would like to return to my mother as soon as possible."

            At this Whitney stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Miss McAllister," he began, pausing to wonder if she had ever married, and then shook his head as this was quite unlikely considering her story.  "Perhaps you don't fully understand the situation here—what's at stake.  It's more than just a man's life that is on the line—it's his whole family—a child… you understand that, don't you Miss McAllister?  They have a daughter—Mr. Lupin who is not here at the present and Mr. Black who stands just over there.  It's a little girl—she's just a baby—and without your family's assistance another family will be ended prematurely."

            _A daughter… a little girl… Bridget inwardly cringed at the way the sudden silence entombed the room.  She understood that it was her turn to speak, knew without a doubt that this Whitney person's words were meant to convince her to change her mind, but it wasn't that simple.  Her mother's life was at stake.  Who were they to place a value of importance on a family?  Who gave them the right to decide that one family's livelihood was more important than another's?  In a minute if she couldn't escape the stifling confines of the chamber she was certain she would weep in frustration._

            "You make it sound so simple," she muttered.

            Severus stepped forward and there was something about his dark eyes, the way his lips curved into a slight smile that steadied her nerves slightly.  "Bridget, may I call you that?"  She nodded.  "We're not asking you to choose—never think that we would place more of an importance on one man's life than on your mother's.  However, there are measures that we can take to safeguard your mother—protection spells, concealment charms, security wards… you're probably familiar with these, seeing that you have been responsible for your mother for all these years."  Severus paused, and then tentatively reached for her hands.  "You must forgive Mr. Potter, he tends to be a bit impetuous at times, but I can assure you that he means no harm.  Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin have become the boy's parents so to speak—his birth parents were killed by Voldemort—and I must say that he's very protective of them."  At Harry's dark look, Severus smiled dryly, and then continued in the same smoothly modulated tones.  "Not that I disagree with his motives.  And I think you feel the same way, don't you Bridget.  You would do anything for your mother just as these men would do anything for their family."

            Bridget was really on the edge of a crying jag.  She tried futilely to swallow past a lump that had risen in her throat, blocking any words she would wish to speak, and withdrew a hand to press a handkerchief to her lips.  "I don't know what I would do if they hurt my mother," she whispered.

            "We'll do everything in our powers to make sure nothing happens," Whitney promised, feeling a tangible sense of relief fall over him as he realized the tough veneer surrounding her heart was beginning to crack.  

            "But can you _promise me?  Can you absolutely guarantee me that she'll be safe?  She's so afraid of your people."_

            Severus squeezed her hand in reassurance.  "I promise on my life, Bridget, that the Ministry won't touch your mother."

            Nodding briskly, Bridget collected herself and raised her eyes to meet Harry's.  For the first time that evening his eyes didn't burn with hatred, and she was glad—hatred was such an uncomfortable sensation, especially when it was accompanied by such pain and despair.  "Mr. Potter," she said humbly, "I apologize for tricking you.  But you see that at the time I thought I had no other option.  I had heard through the Ministry that someone was making inquiries about my mother and I panicked.  Please… forgive me."

            Harry was never one to hold a grudge—too many close calls with death and tragedy had taught him that the precious time people had together was too fragile to waste.  "Call me Harry," he said by ways of accepting her apology.  She retuned his smile with a bright one of her own and involuntarily returned Severus' squeeze.  

            "Now," she said in bright tones, "Before we collect my mother, perhaps you could fill me in on who this Lancaster woman is?"

            Everyone groaned.

**********

At just half past four, Cecilia finished tidying up Ward 1.  With a small smile of satisfaction she banished the bins of soiled nappies and made sure that all the bottles were properly filled and aligned for the babies' afternoon snacks.  She waved goodbye to Genevieve who was in the corner, refilling the bag on Elizabeth's drip.  Her smiled faded.  The baby was still not eating on her own, and Cecilia wasn't sure how much longer it would be until the MediWizards were brought in.  

Apparating out of the IWPA was a simple task, all the rooms were registered ports in the event of an emergency, but it was the apparating back that always posed a slight challenge.  Genevieve and Cecilia had established a system—as nurses of the institution both were privy to the passwords needed to access and open the ports.  The problems was that one couldn't access the ports using the password outside of the institution, so in order to escape Margaret's watchful eye and prying questions, the girl who remained on the premises was responsible for securing clearance and opening one of the ports at a pre-scheduled time.  Of course, if one or the other happened to return earlier than expected there would be the inevitable ramblings about the adjacent moors as she waited for the proper time.  The issue of tardiness never came up, for at the IWPA, tardiness was tantamount to death.  Granted no one directly knew anyone who had died… but there were always rumors…

So, Cecilia had arranged with Genevieve to open the port in Ward 1 at six-thirty, and with a slight grimace, she disappeared en route to Diagon Alley.

**********

            Charlie stamped his feet impatiently, the cold air stinging his nose.  Conjuring up a simple jam jar with blue flames to warm his hands would be easy enough, but the combination of laziness and looking like a wimp prevented him from doing so.  He wondered for the millionth time why he hadn't suggested meeting _inside Eeylops Owl Emporium, but as the door opened and a harried looking customer emerged with a frantic owl making an incredible amount of racket, he was once again glad to be standing outside.  The screeching of hundreds of owls was not the ideal way to end a day busy with dragon herding.  With Whitney absent, their team had to work extra hours, and Charlie had to begrudgingly re-consider Whitney's usefulness._

            _Where the hell is Cecilia? He groused, glancing up and down the street.  The problem was, he could hardly remember her face—so brief was their initial meeting.  Just as he was beginning to think that he should have mentioned what he was wearing, he heard her voice call out to him._

            "Charlie Weasley?"

            He turned at the sound and stared as a slight figure pushed her way through the busy street.  Hi eyes narrowed as an impatient wizard jostled her roughly, knocking off her hood.  Moving forward to reprimand him, he stopped in his tracks as Cecilia calmly straightened her robes and then promptly shoved him back, catching him off guard and knocking him to his rear.  Smiling, she waved her hand and hurried the rest of the distance amid cheers.  Charlie continued to frown, uncertain as to what to make of her behavior.

            As she neared him he could almost smell the fear pouring off her body, deep terrified uncontrollable fear, and he didn't think it had anything to do with the man in the street.  

            "Hello, Cecilia," he said calmly.

            "Charlie I'm glad to see you," she said breathlessly.  "Is there some place we can go to sit?"

            "What's the hurry?  That man?  Because I don't think he's—"

            "No, no," Cecilia waved her hand distractedly.  _If one more person stares at me or tries to touch me… "Please, Charlie, let's get a drink."  She reached out and without even noticing what she was doing, grabbed his hand and began to pull him down the street._

            Charlie noticed.  He noticed how clammy her hand was, how her fingers trembled… and how she was pulling him in the wrong direction.  If he didn't know better he would say she had never been in Diagon Alley before now.  "Uh… Cecilia, we're heading the wrong way."

            "Oh!" she said with surprise, pausing to look about.  "Right.  Perhaps you know of somewhere we can go?" 

            Charlie nodded his brown furrowing.  As if on cue, Cecilia turned a bright shade of red and quickly dropped her hand, wiping it on the side of her robe.  He weeded his way through the crowd until they reached the Leaky Cauldron.  He walked faster than he would normally, partly to escape the cold, and partly because Cecilia seemed so anxious to get out of the open.  Pushing aside the front doors, he looked about the murky room for an empty table.  Spotting one in the corner, he moved to claim it before the man at the bar collecting drinks could.  After walking about three paces, he turned to make sure Cecilia was following him.  What he saw startled him.  She stood frozen in the open doorway, her face as white as a sheet, her eyes dark pools of terror.  "Cecilia," he shouted, angrily pushing his way back through the crowd, "What in Merlin's name are you—_Cecilia?"  _

            Cecilia trembled.  She couldn't go in… she could feel it… feel its presence… the snatching hands, the rough fingers that covered her mouth smothering her screams… 

            "Cecilia," Charlie reached her side and stood before her awkwardly.  He reached tentatively for her arm, then drew back quickly as she winced.  "Come on, I've got us a table.  Move away from the door, it's cold."  

Cecilia followed him mutely, her feet heavy leaded things stepping sluggishly across the floor.  She kept her eyes focused on the bright spot of Charlie's red hair and tried desperately to block out the images filtering in her periphery vision.  She gripped the folds of her robe tightly about her neck as he pulled out her chair.  _Mrs. Weasley had taught her son well, she thought vaguely as she sat.  The scratched surface of the table was rough with knobby knots under her palms._

After a moment of silence, Charlie leaned forward and asked what he considered to be a simple question.  "What's _wrong with you, Cecilia?"_

At that moment a waitress approached their table to take their drink order.  Charlie ordered for himself a pint of mulled mead and two shots of firewhiskey for Cecilia.  

"I can't," she protested.  

Charlie simply repeated the order then sat back and waited for Cecilia's answer.  He waggled his eyebrows when she made no move to speak.  "Come on, Cecilia," he said in exasperation, "What the heck's bothering you?"

Finally she spoke, slow halting words.  "I'm not fond of this place."  
  


"That's no surprise," Charlie muttered under his breath.

Cecilia threw him a dirty look.  "Listen, Charlie, I've come here out of consideration for Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black.  Not to analyze my problems."  Charlie threw up his hands.  "I've found Margaret's Pensieve."  She waited for a reaction.  "Well?"

Charlie was struck dumb.  This was _not what he was expecting to hear.  "Have you told them yet?  Does Whitney know?" _

Shaking her head, Cecilia thanked the waitress and fingered her glass.  "I can't seem to get a hold of them—I've sent owls to their home but there's never any answer."

"Yeah, they're up at Hogwarts.  I suspect Whitney's still there since he hasn't reported to work."  He grabbed one of the shot glasses and took a deep chug of the potent liquid.  Coughing slightly, he noted with some amusement that Cecilia tucked hers away neatly and with no apparent after-effect.  "Good God, Cecilia, do you know what you've discovered?"  She nodded slowly.  "Can we see it?  Can you gain access again?  And I've got to tell you that I'm afraid I'm not the best person to look at it."

"Why not?" she protested.  "What's wrong with you?"

Charlie flushed.  "I'm not—it's not—well, I'm a dragon keeper, Cecilia.  Not an investigator."

"So?" she challenged.  "I want you to see this.  I trust _you."_

"Well, I think we should bring someone else along—someone with Ministry connections."  He felt a small thrill of pleasure pass through him at Cecilia's honest words.  With a sigh he wondered what was wrong with him.  "I suggest we ask Hermione Granger to accompany us—she's my sister-in-law and is also an influential person at the Ministry.  Plus, she's too damn smart for her own good so that should help us considerably."        

Cecilia smiled.  "Why doesn't she have your last name?"

"Women's liberation or something or another.  My brother Ron was pretty damn ticked—but that's what he gets for marrying her—not that she's bad at all," he hastened to add.  Cecilia's smile broadened.  "Don't you be telling her I told you this when you see her, Cecilia.  I know how you women work."

Laughing for the first time that afternoon, Cecilia moved comfortably to collect their glasses and pushed them to the side.  Lowering her voice, she motioned for him to come forward.  On second thought, she reached out with her hand and grabbed the back of his neck in what looked like a lover's embrace.

"Charlie," she whispered, her voice low, warm and strangely lilting in his ear.  "Stay still… I don't know what sorts of people are listening to us… I may have said too much already."  She began to slowly run her hand up and down the back of his neck, the softness of her fingers tickling the sensitive skin.  Her cheek, warm from the firewhiskey and from something else, pressed up against his.  She blushed at her forwardness but forced herself to think only of the baby she loved.  "Margaret leaves the institution every Wednesday between six-thirty and seven in the evening.  She's gone for several hours, so you needn't worry about getting caught.  I am certain that she is visiting with Macnair.  Don't worry about gaining access to her office… I know the spell to get through the door."  Small circles ran the length of Charlie's neck and he closed his eyes.  "If you and Ms. Granger can arrange to take time this coming Wednesday, I can open up the apparating ports to give you access to the institution.  But this works like clockwork, Charlie—a minute late and we've lost our chance for a week."

She stopped speaking but continued to touch his neck.  With a sudden start of realization she realized that his strong, calloused hand had reached up to twine itself in the hair at the nape of _her neck.  The fingers twirled themselves in the curls, tugging slightly but without pain.  Their cheeks remained pressed together._

"Cecilia," Charlie said softly into the shell of her ear, the wisps of curls tickling his lips, "Remus' trial is set for November 25.  The official word came from Culpepper's office a few days ago."  He held her head in place as she jerked with shock.  "Whitney's kept me apprised of the situation and while it appears that we are gaining strength on our side, your discovery will make all the difference… Cecilia, Remus and Sirius are going to be so thrilled to hear of this."

She closed her eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to spill.  If only he knew… if only any of them knew the thoughts that swirled in her head… "Charlie, there was a boy… _is a boy," she corrected herself, "who I tended to for five years after the death of his guardian.  When the child came to the institution he was but a shell of a boy, miserable and broken.  I don't want this to happen to Elizabeth…"_

"Who was this boy?" Charlie asked, rather surprised at himself for feeling pleasure at the way her warm breath ticked his neck.  

"His name is Christian Huber…"

**********

            The black windows were beginning to grate heavily on her nerves, and it certainly didn't help that none of the window sills seemed to close properly.  Not wanting to do Walden Macnair any favors, but absolutely unwilling to subject herself to the frigid cold of the room any longer, Hermione cast the proper spells to repair the damage to the broken windows.

            Walden threw her a dirty, ungrateful look as he coughed into a tissue.  He tossed it to the growing pile at his feet and leaned forward to stare at the ground.  Bent at the waist was one of the only comfortable positions he found for breathing, and still phlegm rattled about his lungs like a canister of dry beans.  "I asked already and I'll ask you again.  What the hell do you want?"

            Patience in the face of gross, black-hearted men was Hermione's forte and so she sat herself on the opposite end of the couch, heedless of the way she shook the frame.  Walden shot her a blood-shot look of disgust.  "I have all the time in the world," she began.

            "Yeah, but your werewolf friend doesn't," Walden said with smug satisfaction.  _Uppity bitch.  _

            Hermione frowned.  "How do you know—"

            "My dear Ms. Granger, surely you realize that I know everything that happens in Culpepper's division—including your theft of a certain trial transcript?"  Hermione's mouth hung open unattractively.  Walden continued, getting a huge amount of enjoyment out of this exchange.  "Ah yes… it would have been helpful, wouldn't it?  Too bad it's gone."

            "And with it the house elf you sent on your little mission?" Hermione snapped.  Walden raised his eyebrow.  "I know it was Fitzherbert's old house elf that took the transcript from my office."

            "Doing your homework?" Walden chuckled.

            "What did you do with him?"

            Reaching for another tissue, Walden shrugged his shoulders indifferently.  "I care not, Ms. Granger.  Really, do you think I would bother myself with the piddling affairs of the house elves?"

            "No, I suppose not," Hermione folded her arms across her chest and stared pointedly about the room which lay in shambles and smelled of ripe curry.

            "That smell's not my fault."

            She pursed her lips in displeasure.  "Walden, what is your purpose in this whole affair?" she asked, deciding to cut directly to the chase.  The stench of the room and the dim lighting was beginning to make her dizzy.  

            Leaning back against the couch, he closed his eyes tiredly.  "I'm the axe-wielder, surely that's obvious."  He opened one eye and peered at her.  "I cut off their heads.  Sometimes I miss my first time.  And I'm neither always gentle nor merciful.  Ah…" He blew his nose with obvious pleasure.  "I just love the sound of metal hitting bone—if finality had a sound that's what I would imagine it to be.  It's actually rather delightful, you know, knowing that you've rid the world of another beast."

            Struggling not to release the bile rising in her throat, Hermione glanced away and looked at the metal cage in the corner of the room, a rusted padlock hanging open on the latch.  "You make me sick, Walden."  Standing, she crossed the room to touch the padlock.

            Lurching forward at her movement, Walden released a hoarse scream.  "Don't touch that!"

            Hermione's hand froze mid-air.  She spun about; relief coursing through her that she had had the foresight to pocket his wand.  "What?" she asked in a strained voice.  "Don't touch this?"  She gave the padlock a tap.  "This?"  She took her hands and shook the metal cage.  "Where's the dog, Walden?  Where's your pet?"

            Red rose before Walden's eyes.  Standing shakily he crossed the room, his boots thudding loudly on the wooden surface.  He watched as Hermione's hand reached into her pocket.  He knew instinctively that she also had possession of his wand.  "Don't do that again."

            Hermione's eyes blazed.  "This is a cage, Walden.  A cage for a _werewolf."_

            "You don't know that."

            "I do.  I see it in your eyes.  It explains everything—why you hate them, why you're so heartless."  She continued to swing the padlock in an effort to draw out the man's inner beasts.  "You're not afraid of them—someone you loved _was one."_

            "You know nothing, you little bitch," he snarled, his teeth clacking together as his jaw trembled with rage.  

            "Who was it?  Your mother?  Your _father?"  She pressed onward.  Walden covered his ears and still she continued in that high sing-song voice of hers.  "It was for your father.  Surely you didn't think I'd come all this way without doing my research, do you?  This cage was for your father and you watched him die…"   _

            "Stop talking!" he shouted.  

            "Remus Lupin has done nothing to you," she yelled back, furious at the denseness of his way of thinking—the one-track way he processed his thoughts.  "_Dietmar Huber did nothing to you, and yet, you and Margaret and Culpepper executed him like a wild uncontrollable animal.  What's worse is that you executed him as a __man."  She spat her words at him, desperate to reach past the black brick wall he had erected around his heart.  "It's become a poison with you—so black that you can't tell the difference between that and the blood you're coughing up."_

            "You'll never understand."

            "Make me understand, Walden, _tell me why you're doing this.  It's not just your parents, is it?  What about Buckbeak?  Did your aunt perhaps get mauled by a pack of rabid Hippogriffs?"_

            Walden's eyes were puzzled as he tried to comprehend her shouting.  Belatedly Hermione remembered that she and Harry had managed to save Buckbeak's life… but not before Walden would have chopped off his head.  "I don't know what you're talking about.  If someone reports a dangerous beast than we give them a trial and—"

            "You're paid to execute these creatures, Walden!  This is not a courtroom!  That time it was Lucius Malfoy.  Who is it this time?  Margaret Lancaster?  What kind of hold does she have over you?"  

            "Margaret knows—she knows…" He shook his befuddled head, realizing in that moment how much he hated Margaret.  "Things."  He said firmly, raising his eyes to look directly at Hermione.  "It's too late," he mumbled.  "It's too late…"

            If she dared, if she thought her hands would ever come clean after touching the vile man, she would have placed her hands on his shoulders and given him a good shake.  As it was, she could only stand there and wait for the demented man to speak.  When he remained silent, she shook the lock on the cage furiously, knocking him out of his reverie.

            "What!" he shouted.  "What do you want from me?"

            "I want you to put an end to this!  I want you to work with me—to convince Culpepper to stop this ridiculous partnership he has with Margaret and spare this innocent man's life.  You have no need of them—there is no reason to rely on them!  They're poison, Walden… they bathe in it—Margaret especially."

            "You don't understand…"

            "What's there to understand?" Hermione snapped, at her wits end.

            "Look at me!" Walden roared pressing closer to her.  "Put on the light!  Do it!"  

Hermione flipped on the overhead switch.  In the glare of the fluorescent light she looked at him expectantly.  "Well?"

"Look at my face.  Tell me what you see."

Hermione peered at him and stared at the mess of scar tissue between the bridge of his nose and the glaring red vertical scar stretching from his top lip to the underside of his nose.  His eyes were a bit misshapen perhaps and there was something decidedly different about the way his top lip tried to cover his teeth, but… "So?" she shrugged.

Walden's eyes widened in disbelief.  Never before had he allowed himself to be so exposed, so completely open to the harsh criticism that had met him that one day so long ago when he still believed in cowboys.  And to have this woman simply stare at him as if there was nothing different about him—Walden was livid.  All these years, these never-ending periods of time that stretched into eternity when he would wear a hood to cover his face and never be near light stronger than candlelight—all wasted!  With wonderment he puzzled over her reaction.  _Would others judge him as uncritically?  But no—this was a game for her.  "You see nothing wrong?" he hissed, cringing inwardly as he waited for her criticism._

            "Well, I suppose the MediWizard who performed your surgery wasn't quite up-to-date on the proper scar prevention techniques… but no.  I see nothing wrong."

            Walden released a thin wail of outrage.  It was absolutely inconceivable.  If this were the case… if all these years he had hidden his true nature until he had morphed into something so completely unrecognizable he didn't even know himself… if this were true, then it was all for naught.  Everything was ruined.  Revenge was moot.  

            "Get out," he whispered, anguish seeping into his words.

            "No," Hermione told him firmly.  "I want to talk about what we are going to do to stop Lancaster and Culpepper.  I know you don't want to do this—you're a pawn in their game.  You have no real power, Walden, if that's what you are trying to do—assert yourself that is.  It's over.  In the end you'll have lost, too."  She walked to the box of tissues and handed it to the man.  To her surprise Walden accepted her offering.  "There's no real release in this, you know that.  If there were you would have stopped after the first one.  After Dietmar Huber.  Nothing you do will bring them back.  You can only try to make them proud."

            Walden's tortured eyes bore into hers.  "You don't know what you speak of, Ms. Granger, nor will you ever, ever understand me.  You can never understand what I am."  He paused to release terrible, back shaking coughs into his tissue.  "I want you to leave.  I am _asking you to leave."_

            "But—"

            "Get out!" he screamed, the faint thread of his control snapping.  "Get out!"

            "I feel sorry for you, Walden Macnair.  Sorry for you because you have chosen hatred as your path and you think it's too late to repent."  She crossed the room to the door, her shoes clicking on the floor.  Click click click—each sound punctuating her words.  "It could have been different, you know.  That werewolf only attacked your parents because you made threats against his kind, and he didn't know how to react any differently.  He's not the only beast, Walden, you're one, too.  A wholly man-made one… and that's far worse."  She closed the door on her words.

            Walden collapsed onto the couch, his head buried in the crook of his arms, and his shoulders began to shake.  

**********

            Remus was exhausted—bone weary exhausted—the kind that made his very toes tired.  He had walked Christian to the Great Hall for dinner, politely refusing his invitation to join him, and now he was returning to his room, returning to Sirius.  He closed his eyes briefly and thought of how pleasant a hot bath would be.  Smiling, he thought of ways in which he could convince Sirius to join him.  _Not that he ever had to do much convincing in this regard…_

            With a slight spring to his step, he climbed the many stairs to the staff quarters, passing by silent paintings that watched his progression with shifting eyes.  He was somewhat surprised that during their stay he had not had the pleasure—or displeasure however you want to put it—of bumping into Peeves.  In his state of mind, even a run-in with the pesky poltergeist wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest.

            A great weight had been lifted from his soul, and he had Christian Huber to thank for this.  Part of him recognized that he, in listening to he boy, had offered a reciprocal form of healing, and he felt warm with pleasure.  Teaching and nurturing children was one thing, elevating them to new heights of scholastic achievement had always pleased him, but this… this was different.  Never before, not even with Harry, had he really been able to reach out and connect so wholly with a child—and a small part of him argued that Christian Huber was no child, but a man grown… but this was just a triviality, and Remus didn't want to bother himself with those tonight.

            The wall sconces along the staff corridor were already lit, and as he made his way towards the end of the hall, a warm delicious aroma began to fill his nostrils.  Smiling faintly, he approached the door to his old rooms and carefully turned the handle.  _Ah… yes… the smell was definitely stronger…  He slid in soundlessly and took in the sight of Sirius' tall frame lighting the candles Muggle-style on the mantle._

            "Hello…" he called softly.

            Sirius spun about in surprise, a boyish look of delight gracing his handsome features.  "Moony," he said, pleased at the look of surprise on his face.  He blew out the end of the match and tossed it into the fire.  "Are you hungry?"

            "Famished," Remus answered, thinking that his hunger existed on several levels but that in this moment a simple fare of milk and honey would suffice.  He said as much aloud and flushed with pleasure as Sirius laughed.  

            "Well, it's a surprise—for me, too.  I just put in a request for something that tastes good."  He turned his nose to the air, and with Padfoot-like curiosity, began to pick apart the scents.  "I think I smell… pheasant… yes, not to be mistaken for the simple chicken, Moony, though the wolf in you might not appreciate the subtle differences in flavor…"  He closed his eyes and sniffed again.  

            Remus sat on one of the chairs and crossed his legs, watching with pleasure as Sirius played with the air—a particular talent of his and one which he never tired of watching.  His eyes crinkled at Sirius' pheasant jest.  

            "Perhaps a rice pilaf with wild mushrooms and a Madeira sauce… with a hint of butter to make the texture melt in your mouth… Ah… and I _definitely smell custard of sorts… is that chocolate I smell?"  Bright blue eyes opened and he winked at the handsome man twirling his napkin in his lap.  _

            "Chocolate?" Remus' eyes lit up with mock fascination.  "Why Padfoot, you're a true connoisseur!"

            "I try."  Sirius sat himself down next to Remus and carefully lifted the glass bells from the plates.  He lowered his nose to sniff appreciatively, to breathe in the layered scents of fowl mixed with wine and butter and thyme.

            "I would like to say grace, Sirius," Remus said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.  

Sirius looked at him with a bit of surprise but said nothing as two slender milk-blue hands reached across the table to take hold of his.  There were a million things he had to be thankful for as well, and for that he couldn't… and wouldn't… begrudge Remus his occasional religious whim.  

Closing his eyes while gently rubbing his thumbs along the other man's palms, Remus reached into the recesses of his mind to find the words.  To whom he was addressing this prayer he wasn't sure, but he knew, just as he knew that was finally able to love himself, that something somewhere was looking out for him.    

            "Thank you for finding a way to make me whole… for completing me on so many levels.  Thank you also for the gifts of forgiveness, understanding, and humbleness… three things that enable me to look upon others without judgment, without reservation.  Thank you blessing me with the gift of love—both to love others and more importantly… to love myself…  But most importantly, I wish to thank you for the gift of friendship… a gift I shall treasure my entire life for it has made me the man I am today, a man who encompasses all the other gifts and can appreciate the beauty of life." 

            Opening his eyes, Remus squeezed Sirius' hands tightly then leaned forward in his chair to kiss him gently.  "I meant it… every word, Sirius."  And Sirius could only nod, his heart aching for the beautiful man sitting next to him, loving _him. _


	15. I Loved A Werewolf Once

A/N: Well, I am absolutely *embarrassed* how long it has taken me to post this chapter.  I am actually pretty surprised any of you even remember me!  Hee hee.  But here it is, Chapter 15… and I promise, the boys are *much* happier with me and have promised to write much faster next time!  Really though—a million apologies for making you wait so long.  *Hugs*

This chapter is dedicated to the fabulous Joey Potter who drew me the most *fantastic* picture of Remus, Sirius, and Elizabeth.  You're the best!!

Chapter 15: I Loved A Werewolf Once

            "Wait."  

            Charlie stopped at the door and glanced back at the table where Cecilia sat spinning her empty glass.

            "Before you leave… I'd like you to take me to Elizabeth's parents.  You said you knew where they were?"

            He nodded frowning.  

            "Can you… can you take me to them?"

            She stood, hastily buttoning her cloak and followed him out into the blanket of darkness.  "How long will take to reach them?"

            "Hogsmeade's only a little ways from the castle.  We'll apparate just outside the property and walk."  He watched as she tidied her curls, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  "All set?"

            Cecilia set her lips into a grim smile and nodded.  "Yeah—but first, Charlie, just a teeny detour."

**********

            Sirius rubbed a rough hand across his dry face.  A soft yellow-white glow burned from the candle on the desk, and even this had been lit with caution after Remus had asked him to bank the fire, pleading a headache from the light.  He looked across the room at the figure curled up on his side and counted the rise and fall of the sheet covered back.  It was only quarter past seven in the evening, but Remus had been sleeping, or feigning sleep since six.  

            It had been two nights since either man had any real sleep and exhaustion was fast catching up to Sirius' muddled brain.  With a sigh that whispered of extreme tedium, he shuffled impatiently through the pages of yet another werewolf treatise.  "Rubbish," he muttered.  "Bloody _stupid Ministry…" _

            "Sirius?"  Remus rolled over and shielded his eyes from the light.  

            Sirius hastily blew out the candle and crossed the room.  Remus groaned as the mattress shifted.  "My head," he murmured.  "I need…"

            "Should I go fetch Madame Pomfrey?" Sirius asked running a cool hand over his mate's flushed face.  "Moony, you're burning up."

            "Just a headache… it'll pass."  Remus sat up and pressed his head against the wall.  "Damn, the room's spinning."  He made a feeble attempt for the water on the nightstand, but Sirius anticipated his action and reached it first.  "Here, love."

            Leaning sideways on the bed, Sirius folded his long legs beneath him and appraised Remus' exhausted face.  "You need to take the dreamless sleeping potion, Moony.  You can't keep going on like this, you'll kill yourself before the trial, and," he tried to grin, "where's the satisfaction in that?"

            Remus opened his mouth to retort but stopped as a sliver of silver-white light cut through the leaded window to beam on the cold stone floor.  Instantly he was reminded of the fairy paths that used to tease and beckon him from his childhood window, calling in soft melodious tones, "Remus… Remus Lupin!  Come play with us… Come play with us, Remus…"  One night he had answered their call, succumbing to the lure of the endlessly whispering voices like the Sirens of Odysseus' nightmare, stealing down the stairs in slipped feet, cracking open the door to the chill of the night air, leaping on his springs to meet the edge of the forest.  But there within the shadowed canopy of the trees the voices had changed—they were no longer beckoning, no longer alluring, but hissing reptilian tongues, lashing and winding about the trees, no longer playful but sinister and hateful.  

            "Remus?" Sirius ventured.

            ….He had met his maker that evening, the he-creature that had spawned him.  Born of his own tormented flesh was a son, a pack mate.  And in that instance a child innocent of soul and spirit had cried out for his mother and father but was no longer wholly theirs.

            "Remus!"  Sirius' hands were shaking him fiercely.  "You're shaking.  Moony, oh gods Moony you've got to help me out here…"

            Wetness… was Sirius weeping?  

            "…that look, that terrible haunted look…I can't stand what you think of yourself as.  I love you… _love you."_

            It was completely wrong that Sirius should cry.  For what reason was there for weeping anymore?  The cathartic nature of tears had long since passed until there was nothing remaining but a deep abyss of swirling conflicting emotions—past wrongs that tasted bitterly of hate.  At yet at the ledge of the dank murkiness there was a shimmering radiance his mind recognized as hope.  And this motion, this thrilling sensation was what pushed him forward each waking minute, not the temporary release of tears or the slamming of fists into doors.

            Strong arms enfolded Remus and pressed his face against the smooth, cool column of Sirius' throat.  Silently working to find the right words, Remus thought again of the fairy paths and knew that no matter what happened Sirius would always protect him—his very own St. George vanquisher of dragons.  But lately there were so many dragons, and frankly Remus wasn't certain if defeating them would be enough.  "I'm fine," his voice was muffled.  "Sirius, don't do this."  He pulled back and tangled his fingers through Sirius' disheveled locks.  "You're a wreck," he chided softly.  

            "It's only…Elizabeth and all this and you…Gods," Sirius released a choked embarrassed laugh.  "Sorry.  I'm a fucking mess."  He made an exaggerated gesture to wipe away the tears sliding along the contours of his cheekbones.

            Remus shook his head and pulled him forward so that the other man's head rested on his chest.  He drew up the blanket and ran his fingers lightly over and around and through those jet black tresses.  "You're starting to gray," he teased. 

            With an all together different cry of disbelief, Sirius jerked upright, his hands clutching spasmodically at his hair.  "Fuck, where?"

            With a light laugh, Remus pointed.  "Here, here, over there and oh… right here there's a _really_ large patch, Padfoot… Mmm….You know there are elixirs for this—"

            "I'm not bloody going gray, Moony!" Sirius challenged.  Remus waggled his eyebrows and shrugged down at Sirius' trousers.  "Fuuuck…" Quick fingers popped the buttons and he peered anxiously.  "You wanker!" he hollered, pinning Remus flat on his back. 

            "Well?" prodded Remus.

"It's too dark to tell," Sirius admitted

            "There's no shame in gray hair," Remus laughed.  "Some people find it rather distinguishing, you know."

            "That's only because you've been bloody gray since your twenty-first birthday, Moony," Sirius growled.  He planted a quick kiss on Remus' forehead and smiled at the disappointed look that flitted across his mate's face.  "You're sick, 'member?" he chided, working his way out his clothes.  "And I'm absolutely knackered…Mmm… I reckon I could sleep here all night."  He adjusted his ear in the hollow plane between Remus' ribs.  "Bloody bony pillow though…"

            Remus chuckled.  

            "Do that again, Moony," Sirius muttered.

            "What?  This?" he laughed again. 

            "Mm… yeah…" Sirius yawned.  "I like it when you…laugh…"

            Smiling softly, Remus squeezed Sirius' shoulders and watched as he drifted into the first easy sleep in many nights.  He knew he should have been exhausted, and truthfully, there was something about watching Sirius slumber that made his own eyes feel heavy.  He shifted slightly and gasped as Sirius' hand instinctively groped _there_.  _Even in his sleep_…Remus sat for several moments in quiet repose, stroking his hand up and down, back and forth across Sirius' smooth skin.  

The moon rose higher in the evening sky, widening the fairy path and brightening the room, and with it a chill passed over his heart with icicle-like intensity.  He knew there were no werewolves on the loose, the tug of the moon was too weak in it waxing crescent stage and yet… 

            He carefully lifted Sirius' head from his chest and laid it gently on the pillow.  The bed creaked slightly as he slid from beneath the covers.  A fire was lit in the hearth, and he knelt down before the red-blue flames and stretched out his hands.  After a moment, he tossed in a bit of powder and called softly, "Albus…"

            As he waited for a response from the Headmaster's office, Remus wondered if Elizabeth were happy.  "Remus," Dumbledore's voice broke through the silence.  "I'm glad you called for me… Charlie and Cecilia have just arrived and would like to speak with you and Sirius."          

            Remus' face registered his panic.  There was a shaking within the flames and he watched as Dumbledore's face flickered in and out.  "Albus?"

            "Mr. Lupin!" A halo like a lion's mane surrounded Cecilia's pretty face.  

            "Cecilia!" Remus sat on the floor hard.  "Elizabeth—"

            "I have news and… ow!  Charlie that's my _foot…"_

            Remus pressed his face forward and hissed urgently, "Cecilia I'm coming up—wait for me.  Don't leave!"  He rushed to the bed and shook Sirius awake.  "Stay there!" he cried over his shoulder.  "Sirius, wake up!  Cecilia's here.  Now!  Get up Sirius, hurry!"

            "What?" Sirius rolled clumsily out of bed and struggled to pull on his trousers.  Shaking hands made a mess of his buttons.  "Screw it…" he mumbled, throwing the shirt on the bed and sliding his arms into his robes.  "Cecilia's here?  Where?  At the school?"

            "Yes," Remus growled impatiently, his own clothes not quite tidy either.  He grabbed hold of Sirius' hand and dragged the now wide awake man into the corridor.  

            They tore through the halls, hearts pounding as they waited for the spiral staircase to wind itself towards Dumbledore's chambers.  "Hurry, hurry…" Remus urged.  Sirius was silent.

As they neared the top of the tower the door opened, and Dumbledore stood framed in the entranceway, his half-moon spectacles barely concealing his bright eyes.  "Remus, Sirius. Come, come in."  Somewhat winded, they followed Dumbledore into his brightly lit chambers.  In the center of the room, seated on familiar chairs were Charlie and Cecilia engaged in a heated argument.

"...Genevieve knows..."

"...unacceptable..."

"...limited window of time, you know that, Charlie..."

"Ahem."  They looked up guiltily.  Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly.

            Remus rushed forward and gripped Cecilia by the shoulders.  "Cecilia, Elizabeth…is she okay?"

            "She…" Cecilia glanced at Charlie.  She cleared her throat.  "Elizabeth is alive."

            "Alive?" Remus' hands shook.  He looked imploringly at Sirius who crouched down next to him.  

            "Cecilia," Sirius' steady voice belied his fright.  "Tell us what's happened to our daughter."

            She swallowed.  Dumbledore nodded at her.  "Elizabeth is not eating," she said slowly.  "She's non-communicative and has difficulties sleeping.  And when she does sleep she's not getting any rest."  Remus' grip tightened.  He understood this all too well.  "I had Genevieve put her on the drip tonight—an intravenous feeding system—but I don't know… I just… Mr. Black, she's fading away, and even the MediWizards don't know what to do.  I've seen children like her—babies exactly like her—" she trailed off.

            "…and…and what happened?  To those children?" asked Sirius.

            Cecilia's eyes filled.  "They almost all die," she whispered.

            Silence.  And then, "Damn her…Goddamn her!" Sirius hissed.  "Take me to her."  Cecilia's eyes widened.  "My daughter's dying and I'm not going to fucking sit here and let her suffer!"  The tic was back in his jaw, throbbing to the maddened beat of his heart.  

            "There—there are wards.  I can't just—"

            "She's my daughter," Sirius face was strained.  "I'll take polyjuice—I'll pose as you or Genevieve—"

            "It won't work!" Cecilia turned frightened eyes towards Dumbledore.

            "Why the hell not?  You're obviously incapable of helping her.  She needs her parents.  She needs _me_.  She needs _Remus_.  Not you.  Not Genevieve.  Not that bitch she-devil who calls herself—"

            "Sirius," Dumbledore's hand touched him gently.  "Polyjuice potion takes a long time to brew.  You know that."

            Sirius rounded on the older man.  "What the fuck do you propose we do then?  Let her suffer?"  

            Dumbledore's eyes registered neither shock nor anger at Sirius' outburst.  With his pales eyes fixed on Sirius, he inquired, "These wards, Cecilia my dear, tell me about them.  Can they detect unauthorized visitors?"

            She glanced at Remus and shuddered.  Remus' eyes were closed, his lips moving in silent prayer.  "Yes… they're set so they detect anyone on the property who's not an IWPA employee."  Charlie leaned over and took her hand, his calloused fingers strong and steady.  "When visitors come to the IWPA we schedule an appointment specifically for them.  It's the only way to prevent the sensors from going off."

            "And in situations of emergency?"

            Cecilia shook her head.  "There's never been an emergency, sir.  Miss Lancaster makes it a point to be aware of everything that happens."

            "And yet… you're here."  Dumbledore smiled.  "And more importantly, you managed to find her Pensieve."

            Remus' eyes snapped open.  Dumbledore's words hung in the air.  "You…found Margaret's _Pensieve?"  _

            Next to him Sirius knelt heavily on the floor.  "Cecilia dear," he mumbled, "You've _got_ to learn how to deliver news properly."

            "Well I—" she began tentatively.  "I meant to tell you—"

            "But I raged," Sirius interrupted apologetically. "Bloody hell.  We should have known that she-devil would have had a Pensieve."     

            "Have you viewed it?" Remus frowned.

            "No," Cecilia replied truthfully.  "I've been trying to get hold of you for awhile now but then Charlie said you were here and there was this whole situation with Allister Dougray and his letter and—"

            "Allister?" Sirius asked.

            "Umm… it's just a little problem that happened a few days ago," she paused and heaved a deep sigh.  "Alister Dougray is Elizabeth's biological grandfather.  And Miss Lancaster is insistent that he receive custody."

            Remus' throat constricted.  "Un-fucking-believable."

            "Moony…"

Remus wanted to howl with frustration.  "She'll stop at nothing.  It's her back-up just in case this asinine plan of hers doesn't work.  She's found another way to keep me from being a father."  He shrugged off Sirius' arm and hate-fueled golden eyes burned down at Cecilia.  "I'm fucking getting into that building and nothing is going to stop me from helping my daughter.  And you can tell this—this Allister person that Elizabeth is _my daughter.  Mine."  He stood and began to pace.  After a minute he rounded on Cecilia.  "Tell me, how _do_ you manage to escape the IWPA without Margaret noticing?"_

            Charlie who had been silent up until this point finally spoke.  "Remus," he said with just a hint of warning in his voice.  "You can't be suggesting what it is that I think you are.  That's not fair."

            Remus took a deep breath.  He knew what he had implied was unjustified…and not at all like him.  But before he could say anything, Charlie spoke again.

            "I went with Cecilia to the IWPA tonight.  Not inside, I had to wait on the moors, but I was there, and I know how she does it.  Speaking of which, Albus I'm sorry, but I really can't read your clock."

            "Oh, pardon," Dumbledore said barely glancing at the marvelous piece of complexity.  "It's half eight."

            "Right then… Cecilia?" Charlie's voice was heavy with meaning.

            "Yes, yes I _realize_ Charlie, but—"

            "But nothing!" Charlie's voice rose impatiently.  "You'll jeopardize everything if you don't get back on time!"

            Cecilia shook her head firmly.  "No.  I'm not leaving here yet.  I haven't even told them about the schedule."

            With a grunt of displeasure, Charlie released her hand.  Both Sirius and Remus stared at Cecilia.  "What?" she said testily.  

            "We're going back with you," Sirius affirmed.  Remus nodded.  

            "You _can't.  How many other ways do I have to tell you this?" Cecilia was exasperated.  "Listen.  On Wednesday nights Miss Lancaster leaves the premises at the exactly the same time for her meeting with Walden Macnair.  What I suggest is that this Wednesday we use her absence to examine the Pensieve.  I'll arrange for the clearances—she'll never know."_

            "If you can schedule us then why can't you slip us in now?" argued Remus.

            "Because the ward is only cleared for one person tonight at eight and it can only be opened from the inside of the IWPA."

            "So you enter and then let us in!" Sirius exclaimed.

            She shook her head.  "I'm sorry… really, I am very very sorry.  But there are precautionary clearances that I have passed and you haven't.  You'll set off every alarm in the institution."

            "God!" Sirius dragged a hand through his hair.  He stared blankly at Dumbledore.  "Albus, there has to be some way—a disguise—something!  Our daughter's sick… Please," he pleaded.  "You know we have… it's our one chance… please…" 

            A stillness filled the room.  At long last Dumbledore spoke, and when he did, his voice was weary.  "Yes… perhaps there is a way…"

            At his words, four pairs of hopeful eyes turned towards him expectantly and waited.

**********

            "Do you think this is going to work?" Sirius hissed.

            "Shush…" Remus whispered, drawing the heavy cloak tightly around the both of them.  "Damn," he muttered.  "We should have made this bigger." 

            The crescent moon was high in a sky peppered with celestial fires, and across the barren moor a wolf howled.  Remus shivered.  He knew it was an ordinary wolf, but the wolf spirit in him recognized the cry and shook with suppressed rage and a kind of envy at this other wolf's freedom.  "Padfoot," he prodded Sirius in the side.  "We've been waiting forever…"

            "Wait," Dumbledore's voice cut across their whispering.  

            Across the wide landscape the only distinguishable sounds were of the gentle whishing of dried heather mingled with the barely discernible sound of human breathing.  As far as the eye could see there was a rolling sort of despair to the hillside—as if someone in the creation of this area had begun to make hills but was interrupted in the process, leaving behind wide flat sections with bubbles of earth popping up here and there at random.

            Sirius blew into his hands.  

            "I have it."

            Cecilia walked forward out of the darkness, her face masked in shadows.  "Genevieve is awake and ready for us."  She placed two hairs into Dumbledore's hand, folding his fingers closed to protect the delicate strands from the wind.  "Matthews left the institution to visit his mother.  That grey one is his hair.  The other's mine."  She shivered with cold and pulled the edges of her cloak tightly together.

            "Elizabeth?" Remus whispered.  

            With a small smile Cecilia touched his arm tentatively.  "She's asleep."  A glance at Dumbledore indicated that the potions were ready.  "Remus," she said his name easily, "Genevieve is waiting for you.  She knows to expect you but you must be absolutely quiet in the nursery.  The lights are off so Elizabeth shan't be able to see your faces…"

            "And our voices—" Sirius began.

            "Your voices shall stay your own," Dumbledore assured them.  "This potion simply melts your faces into that of the owner of the hair.  The shells of your bodies shall remain the same for all intensive purposes although your blood chemistry will be altered.  You won't trigger the alarms.  Come now," he handed a vial of dark liquid to the two men.  "You'll only have twenty minutes before the spell wears off.  Hurry."

            Remus gulped down the rank smelling liquid and watched from the corner of his eye as Sirius did the same.  With a grimace he wiped his mouth and shuddered as a strange throbbing sensation began to swim through his limbs.  Screwing his eyes shut he braced himself against the pain, but surprisingly there was none.  His blood simply reacted as if it were bubbling over a flame.  There was no snapping of bones, no twisting and ripping of muscle.  He opened his eyes and started at the vision of Sirius.  

            Sirius who looked like Cecilia with a man's body.

            "Oh… wicked …" Cecilia chocked back a giggle.  

            Cecilia/Sirius cocked an eyebrow at Remus.  

            "Here," the original Cecilia moved forward and pushed Remus and Sirius into place.  "It's simple apparation—that's all.  Genevieve is awaiting you in Ward 1.  Go now!"

**********

"We're over here."

Remus turned at the sound of the voice, and his heart leapt into his throat.  There, lying motionlessly in Genevieve's arms was their daughter.  Their baby girl.  Swallowing hard he adjusted the hood over his face and checked to make sure Sirius' was equally lowered.  Together, hands joined, they crossed the room.  

Very carefully, Remus took Elizabeth into his arms and gently lifted her fingers from the Amore Ball.  Spidery pale blue veins shone brilliantly in the moonlight through translucent skin.  Ever so slowly he lifted one tiny hand, pressed it to his lips and simply held it there.

"Elizabeth…" he murmured.  "Sweetheart, wake up… its Daddy…"

Sirius stroked her wan cheek and stifled an odd noise.  

"Elizabeth… _Lizzie_…"

Violet eyes blinked open, exhausted, weary, and took in the hooded figures holding her tightly.  The tiny mouth Sirius loved to tease worked noiselessly.

"Sweetheart… my love… oh my baby, sweetie we're here.  No one is ever going to take you away from us.  No one," Remus' voice shook slightly.  Swallowing hard he kissed each individual finger.  

"Now listen here, young lady," Sirius chided, a playful banter in his tone that the Lizzie in earlier days loved, "what's this I'm hearing about you not eating?  _My_ little piglet?"  He nodded his approval as her other hand reached out for his familiar finger.  He watched anxiously to see if she would do it.

Together they waited.  And then a single tear slid down Sirius' cheek.  

It was such a familiar little tug, a wet friction made by two toothless gums.  

"My little pumpkin pa-pasty… Ah, hell," Sirius turned his head away.  "I'm a mess again, Moony."    

Remus laughed shakily.  His own eyes burned with unshed tears.  "Okay… Elizabeth I need you to listen to me.  There is nothing, absolutely nothing that will stop us from bringing you home.  We've just got to take a little detour, that's all.  But we're coming for you, never doubt that.  Sirius and I have been waiting our whole lives for you," he broke off and dragged a hand across his mouth.  "Sirius, she can't even understand what I'm saying."

"It's your voice that matters.  Look… she's smiling." Sirius' voice was gruff.  "And hey, you're making _me feel better.  Keep talking."_

"Lizzie, you need to eat.  Cecilia loves you.  She'll take care of you."  He placed her hand once again on the Amore Ball which instantly glowed red.  "Don't forget… don't forget… us.  We're here.  In your heart.  _Here_," he whispered in a low voice pressing down on her chest.  "Always.  And we'll always be here with you even if you can't see us."

"Let me hold her, Rem?" Sirius took his daughter into his arms and gently rocked her, remembering with the pang of nostalgia the first time he had been in this room and how baby Hugh had screamed.  Elizabeth's eyes drooped and her little tongue stilled on the pad of his finger.  She released a little hiccup.  "She's so small.  I had forgotten how small she is."

Remus' heart felt strange.  He had no idea how much good if any their visit had done, but _he_ felt better.  A firm resolve shook him, and he watched as Sirius laid their daughter back in her bed.  There was no way in hell Margaret, Macnair and Culpepper were going to succeed in destroying his family, in taking away everything that made him happiest.  This child deserved love and joy on a golden platter and he was going to make sure he was around to deliver it to her.

"Sirius, we have to leave… the wards…"

"Yes, yes…" Sirius stood bent over Elizabeth's crib, his head hanging limply from his shoulders.  Finally he kissed her, leaving his lips on her hair, breathing in deeply the scent that was uniquely hers.  Sunshine and talcum powder.  Standing he turned and smiled wobbly at Remus.  Remus walked forward and pulled him into a tight embrace.  

"Genevieve, thank you… thank you so much."  Genevieve's face was stricken.

"Cecilia and I will let you know if there is any change," she assured them.  

"Okay—that's it I guess."  Sirius took Remus' hand in his and without turning back, they returned to the moor.

**********

            The end of that last week in October seemed rather normal, perhaps even a bit dull to the average Londoner.  The gorgeous autumn weather had since passed to where it is that beautiful days go, and in its place were the dreary drizzly days that gave London its reputation of fog so thick you could stir it about like pea soup.  Umbrellas and monochromatic heavy wool coats did little to brighten the landscape as people scurried between buildings like rodents—whiskers sniffing the air to detect any change in weather.

            It was no different in the Wizarding community either—long black robes simply replaced the overcoats, and while many of the older generations still left the house wearing the somewhat old fashioned pointed black hat with a full brim, the younger generations more attune to the Muggle stereotypes that filtered into their world despite any attempts to the contrary, thought their parents rather silly and a bit stuffy for adhering to the old ways.  Even Madame Malkin's had discontinued its century long standing order from a shipping warehouse somewhere off the islands of Macedonia, pulling instead from the inventory whenever a request was made.     

            So it was with a rather grim sense of composure that Wizards and Muggles alike awoke that morning to greet the day.  As the clocks chimed five thirty the city began to stir, and in the Culpepper mansion the house elves began the breakfast preparations.  

            Charles Culpepper had been the type of man who liked his coffee tar-pitch black and his eggs so softly boiled that the whites had barely begun to coagulate.  Robert Culpepper hated coffee and despised runny yolks.  

At precisely quarter to six, the silver coffee pot was steaming and the soft boiled eggs balanced neatly in hand-painted porcelain egg cups.  The newest house elf stood in the doorway ready to carry the tray to his master's bedroom, his poor little heart thumping with dread over the unpleasant task.  He knew the routine—Master Culpepper would frown, mutter a few obscenities and then throw the society section of the paper at the elf's head—and that would be on a good day.  On a dark day there was no telling what type of hex might come from the master's wand.

            Charles had set into motion this heavily regimented schedule, and in the beginning when his childish will for rebellion had still burned strong, Robert had imagined the day when he would be Master of the house, sipping tea sweetened with cream and plenty of sugar and eating freshly baked pain au chocolate.  Unfortunately, he hadn't been raised that type of man.  The threat towards those who dared to thwart tradition was so strong that when the old patriarch died Robert had kept to his quarters instead of moving to the more spacious elaborately decorated wing. And when his daughter had threatened to move her things into his father's quarters a locking spell was placed on the deceased man's door.     

            No one understood the fanatical hold Charles held over his son even in death, and it was telling that no one made speculations—not even of the whispered type.

            _Swish went the brass owl door at the back of the house, and _plop_ was the sound of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet as it landed on the butcher block table situated in the center of the kitchen.  Big bold black blocks letters screamed out "The Trial of the Century!"  Along side the caption was the corresponding article on the front page of the Daily Prophet accompanied by a small blurry picture of a figure being led to a chopping block.  The moving photo was grainy and the details somewhat difficult to discern, but it was very clear that just before the photo stopped moving an axe was creeping into view.  _

            With shaking hands, the house elf placed the newspaper along side the coffee pot and began his ascent to the master's chambers.  Through long hallways lined with glossy cherry paneling and intricate French plaster designs, he wove his way to the center of the house where the Wizarding version of the dumb waiter stood.  He pressed a series of leaves on vines carved into the woodwork and within seconds the paneling slid apart to reveal a small cubical not much taller than the house elf himself.  Sliding the tray inside, he quickly crawled in after, glancing at one of the many clocks to ascertain how many minutes he had before he was tardy.  With a small squeak of dismay he pressed a series of buttons to ensure the fastest mode of transportation to the fourth floor wing, allowing the need for promptness to overcome his dread of spilled coffee.  No one kept the master waiting.            

            Raising his arms, Robert released a long drawn out stretch.  With a flop he fell back against a mound of Egyptian cotton covered pillows and decided that today he might just not get out of bed at all.  The sheets were warm in spots from his body and cold where his limbs hadn't touched all night.  His upper lip curled as he awaited the arrival of his morning breakfast, unsatisfactory on so many levels, and he wondered what mishap today might bring.  Then he remembered the article his Department was to have published in this morning's paper, and with a broad grin he decided that perhaps today might prove fruitful after all.  Until…   

            "Good morning, Grandfather."

            Slowly he directed his eyes towards the open doorway.  Whitney stood bearing the breakfast tray, a tiny smirk tickling the corner of his mouth.  "You're looking well."  

            Robert snapped open his gold cigarette case.  Withdrawing a thin cheroot he lit the end using only his hand.  Whitney was unimpressed.  "Are you going to stand there all morning, boy?"  

            Dropping the tray unceremoniously on the nightstand, Whitney crossed the room and threw open the heavy drapes that were beginning to fade with age.  He stared out across the garden and wondered vaguely why anyone would choose to remain in this mausoleum of a home—even the perfectly pruned hedges dared not grow a branch out of place.  Were it left up to him he would give all the elves clothes this instant.  

            "Your shoe's undone and your hair's too long, boy."

            Below him three elves dashed out of the house and began to ready the front stone pathway, brushing aside leaves and other debris that had blown into the garden over the night.  With a frown, he turned and faced his grandfather whose face remained impassive as he smoked thinly on his cheroot.

            It irked Whitney to no end that his grandfather never took a satisfactory drag on the fag.  His fingers itched to show him how it was properly done.  

            "I've heard things, boy," Robert sipped the thick brew.  "Heard that you're a werewolf lover now."

            "And if I am?"

            Grounding out his fag in a gold ashtray, Robert glared at Whitney.  "Boy, I've always known you were a simple half-breed, but I never thought you were—"

            "Am what?" Whitney crossed his arms and stared coolly at the man who had intimidated him his entire life.  "What Grandfather?  Stupid?  Disloyal?  Ungrateful?  A fucking disappointment?  Because I'm afraid you've used all those already the last time you threw me out of here." 

            "Lancaster's informed me of what took place up at that fool's school.  How you interfered."  Two bright spots appeared on Robert's cheeks.  "What'd I tell you would happen the next time you stepped in where it's not your business?"  Whitney narrowed his eyes.  "I should have killed you when you were born.  I told my daughter to stay away from that Muggle, told her he was poison, but did she heed me?  My heir's not even a pureblood.  You're the spawn of a diseased race of people whose poison runs through your veins.  I wouldn't fucking give you my name if I were the last Culpepper on earth."

            Whitney yawned.  Secretly he was rather surprised at his nerve, but the pressing sensation of his grandfather's wand against his left thigh comforted him and gave him gumption.  His grandfather might be able to light a cheroot without his wand but he didn't possess the power to enact any real harm on him without the extension of his right hand.  And Whitney had no intention of giving the wand back.  

            "You're sounding awfully like Great-Grandfather, Grandfather."  Whitney pulled a chintz covered chair close to the bed and took a seat, planting his feet firmly on the floor.  "I didn't come here to hash out our family history as much as that would give me great pleasure."  Robert clattered his teaspoon nosily.  "Tell me why you want to kill Remus Lupin."

            "You think it's about this _Lupin_ creature?" Robert's voice was cold with fury.  "I don't give a damn who the hell he is.  It's _what_ he is that I am concerned with.  I wouldn't care if it were Fiona—if she were a werewolf I'd have her executed.  I'd kill myself if I were one."  

            Unable to quell his immediate reaction to the hatred dripping from Robert's voice, Whitney focused his shaking fingers on the task of shaking out a fag.  He took a long, slow drag and blew smoke rings at the ceiling.      

            "But why werewolves?  Why not vampires?  Or—or any of the other hundreds of creatures your department registers?"   

            Pushing back the heavy blankets, Robert slid his feet into soft bed slippers and drew on his dressing gown.  The lines of his face grew harsh and deep in the direct sunlight, and as if knowing this, he retreated to an old settee in the far corner of the room, away from the sunlight and away from his grandson.  Once situated, he lit up another cheroot.  

            "Your father once asked too many questions," Robert crossed one slender leg atop the other and smoothed the hairs on his calf.  "Do you know what I told him?"

            Whitney shook his head.  No.  

            "I told him," Robert enunciated each word slowly, "that he should enjoy the feeling of hemlock swimming slowly through his veins so he could feel as one with Socrates, brothers in inquisitiveness it seems they were."  Inhale went the smoke, puffed out through his nostrils reminding Whitney strangely of a Norwegian Ridgeback.

            "Fiona?" he asked.

            "Your mother understood the consequences when she entered into that blasphemous relationship, just as she knew that were she ever to breathe a word of this there would be worse fates awaiting her."  Whitney understood his meaning loud and clear.  It comforted him in an odd way to know that Fiona was as much of a pawn as he in this man's hands.  It shattered him though to realize that knowing this she had done absolutely nothing to love him.     

            "You look like him, boy.  Same blank eyes, same ridiculous insipid expression.  Ah yes, I did tell your mother that she would have been better off drowning you at birth like that ridiculous dog you brought into the house."           

            Whitney closed his eyes so that his grandfather wouldn't be able to read the grief written in them.  He had always wondered what had happened to the dainty, devoted dog he had smuggled into the house when he was six.  He could still vaguely remember what it felt like to hold an armful of squirming doggie, to feel the rough silky texture of tongue lapping against his cheek.  This whole time he had prayed and prayed that she had simply lost her way, finding a new home ultimately in a house where she would have free reign of all the rooms and the choicest bones.  

            "Dietmar Huber.  Tell me about him at least."  Whitney managed to say at last.  "I've read his file, but I want to hear it from you."

            "The Bristol Werewolf was like putty in our hands.  It doesn't take a genius to realize a simpleton like him, a _foreigner, had no chance of defending himself to the Department.  Ridiculous waste of life," Robert's worm-like lips sucked greedily at his cheroot.  "He actually thought he could live in England without registering.  __As if he were a human being."_

            "He was," Whitney spat furiously.  "That was a human head rolling on the ground under Macnair's feet.  That was human blood shed under your feet."

            "Trivialities.  The chromosome make-up was wolf.  _Werewolf_.  Infamous masters of disguise—skulking about like regular humans while deep inside is a raging beast threatening the safety and livelihood of mankind.  They'll kill us all, I warn you, boy.  There's no such thing as a safe werewolf."

            Whitney shook his head in disbelief.  "You're wrong.  You're bloody insane—how many innocent werewolves have been put to death under your name?  How many!"

            Releasing a chuckle, Robert uncrossed his legs and leaned back against the arm of the settee.  "It's the Muggle idealistic side of you coming out.  Tut tut… I did warn Fiona that you were soft."  He rolled to his side and twisted his lips into a smile that sent chills down Whitney's spine.  "I killed my first one myself when I was twenty."  He paused to reflect a moment.  "Ah yes… she was a treacherous, devious beautiful creature of the night, and her blood spilled deliciously warm and sticky over my palms …"  

Unbeknownst to what he was doing, Robert cupped his gnarled fingers and raised them almost reverently to his face.  "She screamed in my arms, ripping and clawing at my skin…so soft, so pliable… it was easy enough to carve out her heart when she fell…it was so heavy, still throbbing…Mmm…and yet it wasn't enough," his furious eyes lashed out at Whitney who sat paralyzed in horror.  "For she had deceived me in the worst possible way known to woman—she used the sweetness of her body to try to gain entry into my soul…But I saw her for what she was…murderous, cold, unfeeling…just waiting for the full moon…and then she would pounce, mark me…spawn a mate."

Unable to tear his eyes away from the fevered madness radiating from Robert's eyes, Whitney struggled to stay still.  He wanted nothing more but to run howling from the room, snatching up Remus and any other werewolf he could locate on his way out of this insane country.  He thought briefly of the Croatian werewolf colonies and then of Mary and Bridget McAllister, and he knew there was no safe haven there either that Remus would agree to.

Robert was making slashing motions in the air.  "…thrust my knife deep underneath her breast straight into the center of her heart… the sizzling of the silver blade against her flesh sent a charred scent into the air…" at this he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as if licking the air.  "And I twisted with all my might, twisted so that no part of her black heart would be untouched.  Twisted so that she would never be able to spread her filth.  But then," he opened his eyes and stared beyond Whitney, the centers of his eyes radiating nothing as if staring into an impenetrable abyss, "she whispered something so soft I had to press my ear to her lips…"

"What did she say?" Whitney whispered when it seemed he would not continue.

Robert dropped his hands and said stonily, "I think she said I loved you…I am certain of it.  But then no, that wouldn't make any sense.  It's been irrefutably proved that werewolves are incapable of human feelings.  No," he stood and strode to the wardrobe and began to take out his Ministry robes.  "No, I must be mistaken.  I _am mistaken."_

"I wouldn't be so certain," Whitney said under his breath.  "You absolute bastard."  In a louder voice, "Grandfather…please… please.  Don't do this again.  This man is genuinely good.  There's a loving heart is his body—a heart that loves his daughter more than life itself.  Please, try to understand that not everyone is the product of their blood make-up.  A little compassion is all I am asking for.  Nothing for myself, never for me, but for him.  For her.  Please."

With his back turned towards the room, Robert slowly turned the long column of his walking stick around and about in his fingers.  The wood was still so smooth, so shiny and solid, so firm in his grip.

Whitney bit back a moan of disappointment.  He could see what it was that had captivated his grandfather's attention, but the stick no longer held any power over him and consequently did not frighten him.  He was beyond the little boy that had been locked up with the corpse of his dead Great-Grandfather, a man more poisoned than the one standing before him now.  "Fine!" he shouted with disappointment raging in his voice.  "Say nothing, but know this, Grandfather, you won't win this time—this time you shall fail and your defeat shall be your complete undoing."  He strode angrily towards the door.  

"And yes, I am certain that she loved you.  She saw through your harshness and penetrated that cold shell surrounding your heart and saw within it to the real man inside.  Oh yes, she knew you," he drew in a ragged breath.  "And she died loving you.  Died thinking that she had been a failure—a failure to you because she couldn't make you feel anything but hatred and contempt.  Rest easy on that, Grandfather, I want you to go about knowing that as you were twisting her heart and bathing in her blood she died loving you and pitying you."

**********

"Hmm… I think it's just around this away…blast!"  Bridget McAllister felt her mother's bony fingers dig in her forearm.  "These ridiculous moving staircases—how is a body supposed to get _anywhere in this castle when nothing stays put?"_

Mary McAllister's eyes darted up towards the ceiling stretching far above their heads and down below the railing at the floor of the castle foyer.  "Darling," she chided.  "Patience—we'll get to breakfast soon enough.  I've biscuits in my bag if you're hungry—"

"I do _not want any biscuits, Mother," Bridget snapped.  Contrite, she took hold of her mother's hand.  "Sorry, Mother.  A biscuit sounds lovely.  Perhaps later—during the meeting—it's bound to get boring and we might need a bit of a pick-me-up."  Mary beamed up at her daughter and patted her arm lovingly.  _

With a sigh Bridget looked about and guided her mother carefully off the platform.  "Well, at least we've stopped moving… I haven't a notion where we're at though.  Perhaps we'll find a nice young student who might direct us to—excuse me!  Excuse me, young man!" she called loudly down the corridor at the back of a retreating figure.      

At the sound of the voice a young man with curly brown hair stopped and turned with a bit of confusion.  "Ma'am?" he asked cautiously, eyes darting about the empty hall.

Bridget towed her mother behind, eager to reach the young man before he disappeared, too.  With a wide smile she extended her hand in greeting.  "How d'you do?  I'm afraid we're a wee bit confused—"

"Lost actually," piped Mary.

"Lost," Bridget amended, throwing her mother a querulous look.  "Yes, we're definitely lost."

"And you're going…where?" the boy prodded.  If he were surprised to see two old ladies roaming the halls of Hogwarts he kept this to himself, Bridget noted.    

"Oh!  To the Great Hall.  For breakfast," Bridget added as if that would clear things up a bit.  

"Yes well, I was on my way there myself, actually.  I'll be pleased to show you the way."  He moved forward, stepped neatly onto the correct staircase, and offered his arm to her mother.

            Bridget looked about her with wide eyes at the sections of sunlight cutting through stained glass windows and spilling like rainbows onto the floor.  "What section of the castle _is this?"_

            The boy continued walking at a steady pace, neither slowing to answer the question nor to see if the old lady at his side was keeping up.  But it hardly seemed to be an issue, Bridget noticed dryly, not unaware of the way her mother was moving with a rather lively step but actually appeared to be preening in the statues of armor they passed on their way.  She rolled her eyes in humored exasperation.   

            "I was coming from the Charms classroom.  Professor Flitwick is the head of my house and I needed to talk with him."

            "Hmm… small little fellow, that one, eh?" Mary chirped.

            "Yes… that's Professor Flitwick…he's head of Ravenclaw.  That's my house."  

            Bridget noticed a note of pride in his voice, and she exchanged small smiles with her mother.  "And might I ask what your name is?" she asked as they stepped into the main foyer.

            "Here we are… breakfast."  The boy held open the door for the two women to pass through.  "I think they're expecting you at the head table.  Just up there."  He smiled politely and turned to join his housemates.  "Oh—my name is Christian.  Christian Huber."  He nodded once and left.

            "Christian Huber… what a nice name for such a polite boy.  And did you see how easily he navigated us down to breakfast, darling?" Mary beamed at the staring students all about her as Bridget led her up towards the front of the room.  She noticed at once that Misters Lupin, Black, Potter and Snape were all standing in front of their seats, waiting politely for them to reach theirs.

            Dumbledore smiled merrily as they neared the head table.  "I hope you found you way without too much trouble," he said.  "I know for a fact that Argus Filch has reported that the staircases have been misbehaving this morning."

            Bridget flushed lightly.  "Oh no, no problems at all.  In fact, we met the loveliest young man on the way down and escorted _him_ to breakfast.  Didn't we Mother?" she squeezed Mary's arm.

            "Yes, the nicest young man.  Such well-mannered students you have at your school, Headmaster," Mary enthused.

            "Please," Albus pulled out Mary's chair.  "Call me Albus.  Headmaster is far too formal."  He poured her a goblet of pumpkin juice.  "And might I inquire as to which one of our illustrious students it was that you escorted to breakfast this morning?"

            "Why it was that young man over there.  The one with the brown curls.  Told us his name was Christian Huber."  Bridget waved merrily.  "Mother, would you please pass the eggs?"

            "Indeed!" Dumbledore nodded his smile slightly tense.  "Kippers, Mary?"

            Remus exchanged glances with Sirius.  Both men had had a restless night after returning from the IWPA and dark patches encircled their eyes.  "Good morning, Mary, Bridget," Remus called from three seats away.  "Did you sleep well?"

            "Mmm…" Bridget shrugged apologetically through a mouthful of toast.

            "Yes, thank you," Mary answered politely, spreading marmalade on her eggs.  "It was my first night back in almost six decades.  I had forgotten how quiet nighttime is here in the wilderness."

            The men murmured their agreement, and breakfast continued on without much further conversation.  They all were keenly aware that difficult issues were to be hashed out in a few minutes and all were loath to disturb the sanctuary of silence as food was shoveled into mouths.  

            At long last when only the seven of them remained in the hall, Dumbledore stood and offered his arm to Mary.  "Shall we adjoin to my office?"  His china-blue eyes scrutinized Mary's features kindly looking for signs of strain or unease.  The older woman surprised him by smiling and taking his arm.  "Bridget, gentlemen, if you will?"  He led them to the great cavernous fireplace along the side of the hall and threw in a handful of powder.  Bridget regarded him curiously.  "Floo powder, my dear," he said with a twinkle.  "Best to avoid the staircases again.  Shall we?  Harry, perhaps you'd like to go first?"

            Bridget watched as Harry stepped forward and called out, "The Headmaster's Office!"  With a brilliant flash of emerald green he disappeared.  "What!" she stammered.  Remus stood next to her and smiled.  

            "It's the simplest way to get from point to point in the castle, Bridget, and it won't hurt a bit.  Just speak clearly when you're in the flames and crawl out quickly on the other end.  Harry will help you and your mother."  

Bridget nodded jerkily and grabbed Mary's hand.  Together they took a hesitant step towards the crackling green serpentine flames.  "If you're certain…"  Remus prodded them encouragingly.  They all held their breaths as the two women stepped gingerly into the fire.  "The Headmaster's Office!" they both squeaked and disappeared.

"Right then!" Dumbledore looked about cheerfully.  "Shall the rest of us be off then?  Sirius?"

**********

"Aiee!" then "Oomph…"

Harry crouched down and pulled Bridget and Mary from the flames.  He laughed as the soot covered figures crawled along the floor distancing themselves as far from the fireplace as possible.  "That's wasn't bad was it?" he teased.

"Young man!" Mary scolded.  "I've never—never in my life—felt so—"

"So bloody fantastic!" Bridget cried.  "Mother, I don't know _why we don't have this in Croatia!"_

Mary wiped at her face with a handkerchief.  "I'll tell you why, darling, because the Ministry is wise to the fact that this has decidedly dangerous effects on the heart and…" she broke off and fanned herself frantically.  

Remus stepped forward from the flames and hurried over to the women.  "Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly.     

"We're fine," Bridget said, smiling fondly at her mother.  "Mother does like to be over-dramatic sometimes."  Mary threw her daughter a disgruntled look.

When everyone was seated, Dumbledore leaned forward and asked his first question of Mary.  "I assume that you've been informed of the situation, Mary?  The things that are happening to Remus and Sirius and their daughter, Elizabeth?"  Mary's shoulders tensed.  "Perhaps Remus and Sirius would like to tell you what happened last evening."

Swallowing, Sirius began to speak.  "Last night Remus and I went to the IWPA."  Harry's eyes widened.  "You never…" Remus touched his knee lightly.  "Elizabeth isn't doing well," Sirius continued gruffly.  "She won't eat, can't sleep and barely registered that she recognized us last night.  If we can't stop Lancaster and Culpepper our daughter will… she'll…" 

"She'll what?" Mary whispered.

"Die," Sirius replied bitterly.

A hidden shadow of pain flashed across Bridget's face.

"So you understand," Remus interjected, his hand reaching instinctively for Sirius', "it's not about me any longer.  I suppose it never really was.  Our daughter needs us—she _must live—and I'll do anything as long as it will ensure her safety."_

"Moony," Sirius whispered so quietly that only Remus could hear the anguish in his voice.  

"Culpepper's set the trial for November 25.  It's a formality, that's all.  Just a formal proceeding to guarantee my execution."  Remus' eyes were bright in his pallid face.  "And I…I need your help Mary.  And Bridget, yours, too.  I know you're scared, but Albus and Severus have made inquiries and we can guarantee you immunity from the Department.  There is a war-time fleeing clause that will cover you and prevent you from being persecuted.  Hundreds of wizards and witches fled England during the Second World War.  You won't be singled out."

"You'll be able to live peacefully in England once this is all over," Albus stated gently.

"But my mother… she'll not come to any harm?  You can promise me that?"  Bridget's face was frantic.  "I know how these so-called immunity clauses work—they protect everyone but people like her… and I just know—"

"No." Severus spoke up.  "It won't happen.  I won't allow it to happen, Bridget.  There's a new power in effect at the Ministry—a more tolerant order and I am well acquainted with several of the influentials.  I can call upon them for a favor if need be."

"But this Bristol Werewolf—he didn't protected by the immunity..."

A flicker of sorrow crossed Remus' face.  "Dietmar Huber was executed under a time when the country was reeling under the influence of a wizard named Voldemort.  Surely you've heard of him."  Bridget and Mary nodded quickly, frightened still, and Remus was reminded that the war scars were too fresh, too painful to be dredged through as well.  Remus continued with a drawn out sigh.  "Chaos was the order of the day, and Dietmar Huber fell prey to the vicious dark creature hunts at the time.  But Mary, it was more than that.  There was something decidedly underhanded about the way his arrest, arraignment and trial were conducted.  He was executed without warrant and his child seized.  It was more than an issue of werewolf safety—it was rooted in the refusal to grant parenting rights to werewolves.  Dietmar paid the penalty and now they are after me."

"Mary," Dumbledore said firmly as Remus gripped Sirius' hand hard.  "We need you to testify and tell the jury and the judge your experiences as a parent afflicted with lycanthropy.  How you coped with the transformations, how Bridget came to terms with your differences.  We need a humanistic angle to the parenting argument and I am afraid aside from Remus you are the only known parent alive who can pay tribute from this angle."

"I see…" Mary said.

"But it's more than that," Sirius cried.  "It's not simply a matter of protecting Remus and our daughter but about changing precedence in terms of werewolf parenting in general!  The only reason we were granted a child from the IWPA was because of an apology the Ministry felt it owed me.  Were we any other couple, or a different lycanthrope you can bet that Elizabeth would never have come into our home.  Or if the situation were slightly—" he glanced briefly at Remus—"_different and Elizabeth was our… er…_biological_ child, there wouldn't be anything stopping them from taking her away."  Remus gazed at Sirius with a smile born of pride and deep abiding love._

"Sirius is right," Dumbledore affirmed.  "Please Mary, Bridget consider what this could mean—for you, for Remus, for all these other people affected with lycanthropy who have never been able to experience the joy of being a parent.  The outcome will far outweigh any inconveniences you might suffer."

Mary frowned.  "Inconveniences?"  She looked at Remus for a long moment.  "Mr. Lupin," she began softly, "I think you are bravest young man I have ever met, and I shall be honored to help you in any way I might, and may I just say I can't wait to meet your daughter."  She dabbed at her eyes with a soot covered handkerchief, her smile wobbly.  "The full moon will be upon us in a few weeks… I look forward to running with you."  


	16. What the House Elf Saw

A/N: Joey Potter, Rowenna, Chi, peegchica, and jaded*angel… *Thank You* so very, very much.  You don't know how much I totally *squealed* when I saw all the kind things you had to say about SoC.  You know, I try not to let it bother me that I don't have a million reviews—as an idealist I try to think that "less is more" but in the world of fanfiction (big sigh) I am afraid it's so often the reverse of that.  But I don't let it get me down because you all say the sweetest things and that's what is important.  *hugs* Therefore, Chapter 16 is dedicated to all you fantastic people…and hey, not too bad in terms of updating, eh?  ;) *BaiLing

Chapter 16: What the House Elf Saw

            And so everyone tried to return to something akin to their normal life.  At Hogwarts, Dumbledore resumed his duties as Headmaster and spoke with Hagrid at length about the fir trees for the Christmas celebration next month in the Great Hall.  Professor Snape continued in his most suitable manner of mass intimidation and was disappointed to find that the previously enjoyable marking down of the Gryffindor exams at ten points less than the rest of the houses had lost a great deal of its appeal.  Professor McGonagall, ever purposeful and strident in her duties, was often to be found sitting at her position at the head table, stroking a small mewling tabby kitten.

Elsewhere, Charlie reported back to Augustine and resumed his post as acting second–in-command to the team supervision the baby Welsh Green.  A week later all Dragon Keepers were dispatched post haste to a village in the Ukraine currently besieged by two six ton Ukrainian Ironbelly dragons of a particularly vicious nature and possessing immensely large feet.  Whitney's absence was marked by all and commented on by none.  But Charlie felt, as he rolled out his sleeping bag and readied himself for his watch, that the Ukrainian witches would hardly have missed him anyway.  The Whitney of October was hardly the same cock-sure man as before, and this, Charlie reflected, might possibly be a good thing.  No letters were exchanged with a certain brown-haired witch.

The younger generation, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny worked absently and worried terribly. Their supervisors at the Auror Department, Ollivander's, the Ministry, and elementary school respectively noticed these changes, in addition to the abnormally high number of hushed fireplace conversations in which the word "werewolf" was brought up…and yet considering the to-do at Culpepper's department, it was hardly astonishing.  More than one customer at Ollivander's took offence to Ron's sudden barrage of questions whenever a snide comment was made about Dark Creatures, and the Headmistress at Ginny's school had to deal with a sudden onslaught of irate parents whose children were coming home with pictures of "friendly werewolves."  Hermione continued to blame herself for the loss of the transcript and her inability to quell Macnair's warpath hell bent on revenge; her hair taking the brunt of her frustration.  Harry, as was typical of the young man, felt _himself_ to blame for a good deal of Remus and Sirius' difficulties and dispatched several of his closest Auror companions into the field to take up a bit of the reconnaissance work he had spoken of earlier.  After all, he noted bitterly, there was nothing to lose as Remus' situation was hardly a secret anymore.  

             In Yorkshire Wolds, Cecilia returned to the regimented grind at the IWPA and fretted over the clearances for Wednesday night's examination of Margaret's Pensieve.  She thrilled at the tiny stain of pink on Elizabeth's cheeks and marveled once again at the powerful influence of family.  An unopened letter from Allister Dougray lay on her desk.  Only twice a day could Genevieve find her staring out the window at the moors in search of an owl that never came.

            Mary and Bridget McAllister were as comfortable as could be expected in their quarters at the school and stayed up until the wee hours contriving a plan complete with visual aids to help "those dear, dear boys."  On the eve of Remus and Sirius' departure, they had been properly introduced to Christian Huber and his band of friends, Michael, Doug and Clayton, all of whom had finally learned the truth of his uncle and were staunch supporters of "The Cause" as Remus' case was known throughout the school.  Perfectionist Michael who had an aptitude for drawing created buttons that flashed: "Werewolves Are Human Too" and "Families First."  About a third of the students sported them on their school robes, wary at first about what the professors would say until McGonagall walked into the Great Hall wearing her own "Families First" badge.  After that nearly every student took up "The Cause," and not a day passed without the daily dispatch of irate letters directed towards the Ministry.  Soon after, Rita Skeeter headlined the Sunday edition of _The Daily Prophet_ with a banner that read: "Dissension at Wizarding School: Students who put werewolves before humans."  That afternoon her office windows were egged, bits of shell clinging to the viscous liquid bearing tiny letters that appeared to spell out "Weasley's Wiz…"  And if one were to look quickly enough, they could make out the tiny figure of a little old lady leading the pack of students away from the newspaper office.  

            And what of the young man representing Mr. Remus J. Lupin, werewolf and illegal father?  Ensconced in his old bedroom at the Culpepper mansion, Whitney sat on the floor surrounded by dog-eared stacks of paper, thick leather-bound tomes of mind-numbing legal jargon, a crate of ink bottles and two slender wands.  Tucked under a faded quilt was a sleeping girl, the softness of her snores tickling his ears.  He couldn't recall her name, Janice or Jeannette or something like that… she had been brought up as a diversion, a means to avoid the mess spread out all around him…and the bleakness of his soul.  She had but one purpose to fulfill and that was to make him feel alive again—to help restore the old Whitney to life.  A small pile of sickles lay on the bedside table next to a length of shining gold hair.  She rolled over and threw an arm above her head, the green wool of her sweater a contrast against the whiteness of the walls.  Whitney ran a hand absently across his neck and played with the scratchy stubby hairs.  In the end, the only thing that had roused him in the slightest was the snipping of the shears as his ponytail was cut off…not her cheap perfume or the slightly unwashed smell of her.     

            And in a house surrounded by naked birch trees shivering in the salt wind, two men stood stiffly in front room, neither of them moving to carry the trunk upstairs.  At long last, Sirius bent down to start a fire to remove the chill from the air, and Remus moved off towards the kitchen to scramble up a spot to eat.  In silence they went about their work, stopping to thumb absently through a pile of post and compose a list of food items to be picked up from the grocers.

            "How do you feel about rice tonight?"

            Sirius frowned at a missive from the Auror Division he and Harry reported to.  "Come again?" he asked distractedly.  Surely this can't be right…I can't be assigned to duty in Venezuela _now_…   

            "Rice," Remus called louder from the kitchen.  "Let's have curry.  I've got potatoes and a bit of pork…what is that, Sirius?" he glanced up as he reached for the sack of potatoes.

            "It's…I've…this is a letter from the Division notifying me that departure time for Venezuela is oh-five hundred tomorrow morning."  Sirius stared at Remus blankly.  

            "Talk about timing…" Remus murmured filling a pot with water to boil.  "Can you call you advisor and let him know you can't report for duty?"

            "Of course…of course… it's just," Sirius folded the letter quickly and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans.  "Surely they know about the situation…I notified them before Elizabeth and I left for Hogwarts.  And Harry—Harry's had to have told them anything—_something_ about all this."  He scraped a chair across the floor and straddled the back of it.  

            "What's on your mind, Sirius?" Remus peeled carrots into the sink. 

            "What I'm thinking is that this is awfully convenient.  It's a ploy to get me out of country, and what I want to know is who the fuck is making these decisions and how the hell they've managed to infiltrate the Division!"

            Remus was quiet.  

            Ranting and raving was something Sirius hadn't indulged in since that damn truce he had made with Whitney.  But Whitney was securely tucked away in London, and Sirius needed to find some way of releasing his pent up frustrations.  Leaning backwards he lifted the back legs of the chair off the ground and then shifted his weight forward with a resounding thump.  He proceeded to do this several times in a row.

            Remus' chopping grew louder.  

            "…and fuck if I'm going to bloody Venezuela…" Thump went the chair.  "…bloody asinine Death Eaters… if Macnair wants some heads to roll, I'll serve him up a crate of those nasty, good for nothing, sadistic fuckers and he can practice severing their—"

            "Sirius!"  Remus turned furiously to his mate, sucking on his index finger.  "I've cut myself," he said sharply, "and I'm going upstairs to bandage this—and when I come down I'd had better see you in front of that fireplace," he jabbed his undamaged hand towards the living room, "talking to your advisor because frankly I've had enough!"

            "Moony?"

            "No!" Remus cried stomping out of the room.  "Enough!  That's enough!  I'm bleeding, I'm tired, I'm hungry—and I don't want to hear another word!"  He left the room muttering under his breath.  Sirius could make out the faint threads of, "…he talks about severing heads…Merlin…"

            Sirius stood and tucked his hands into his back pockets.  The water was beginning to boil over the sides of the pot and he wondered vaguely if he should add the potatoes.  He glanced at the stairs and then shrugged.  Turning down the heat, he grabbed a few large brown potatoes from the sack and threw them into the water, jumping back as a few vicious bumbles hissed at him.  Wiping his hands on his jeans, he ambled into the living room and took out the letter.

            Not showing up for Auror dispatch was immediate grounds for dismissal, and he was well aware that there was very little aside from one's own death that could serve as a viable excuse.  He had been granted an extension away from duty for Elizabeth's adoption with the understanding that as soon as the missive for the Venezuela mission was dispatched he would report to his advisor immediately.  With a scowl, Sirius threw a handful of powder into the flames and barked Harry's name.

            Within seconds Harry's face appeared in the fire, his eyes suspiciously guilty.  "Sirius?" he asked mildly.

            "Harry," Sirius growled, "what do you know about Venezuela?"  
  


            "Venezuela?" Harry stared at him with a look of surprise as if this was the last thing he expected Sirius to ask.  "I've not really been briefed on it."  Sirius was pretty confident that Harry was shrugging.  "The Croatian mess isn't cleared up yet—I report back to the Continent tomorrow."

            Sirius' brow furrowed.  "Well, I've been assigned to Venezuela.  Tomorrow."

            "Tomorrow!" Harry looked at him blankly.  "What do you mean 'tomorrow'?  Igby's headed up the team ages ago and took everyone that was selected three weeks past.  They've nearly finished from what I've heard.  Doesn't make sense that they'd send you now."

            "Well that's what the letter says.  Oh-five hundred.  Tomorrow.  Venezuela."

            "Have you had a chance to talk with Bergman yet?  He's back in London, but he didn't say anything about you coming back to duty.  Fact is I've been under the impression that _no one_ expects you back until this…well until the trial's over." Harry's eyes were somber.

            Sighing, Sirius smoothed the letter and read aloud.

            "And Bergman signed this?" Harry inquired when Sirius had finished.

            Sirius nodded.  "What more, he's re-stipulated the terms of my contract with the Division and the repercussions for not showing up."

            "D'you… should I make some inquiries?" Harry offered hesitantly.

            "No…" Sirius said slowly.  "There's something off, and I don't trust anyone just yet.  It makes it sound as if the Venezuela mission is just beginning—like the operation has barely got off the ground.  But if you're saying that Igby's team's been there for weeks…"

            "…then maybe you'd better take care," Harry finished quietly.  "Sirius, where did they say to meet again?"

            "The Division.  Base 1."

            "But we never apparate from the Division, you know that.  It's traceable that way," Harry's voice rose.  "Sirius, there's something wrong about that letter.  You'd better contact Bergman straight away."

            "Yes…well," Sirius folded the letter and tucked it back into his pocket.  "Either way I'm not going."

            "No… I didn't think you would be," he paused.  "But Sirius, this is serious—someone's setting you up, and I don't think it takes a fucking genius to guess who."

            "Mmm…Harry, look, I've got to go.  I just wanted to confer, and I've…"

            "Sirius?  Sirius!" Harry's voice was sharp.  "Promise me you'll not go tomorrow unless you talk to Bergman.  Promise!"

            Sirius nodded quickly and cut off the call.  A million thoughts began to race about his head.  Sabotage was the first thing that came to mind, and frankly, Sirius was exhausted at being set up.  He had taken the blame too many times, falling prey to people he had known only to trust.  And now Bergman… There had never been anything untrustworthy about his advisor—in fact Bergman had been the epitome of graciousness when the Ministry had granted he and Remus permission to adopt a child, offering a leave of absence, promising a job upon his return…  Something smacked of deviousness; he shivered.  

            "Damn, the potatoes…" he rushed into the kitchen at the sound of water hissing in the flames.       

**********

            "Excuse me, ma'am?"

            Hermione skimmed through a thick stack of documents on her desk.  "What is it, Morgan?"  She beckoned her into the room.  "Have you located the apparating treatise for Japan?"

            A young woman stepped into the office, her eyes barely visible atop a tall stack of books.  "Got it right here…and the ones from north east Russia, too."

            "Good," Hermione said approvingly.  "Just set them on the couch.  Oh, Morgan?"

            Morgan turned from the door, rubbing her sore arms.  Hermione looked up over her recently acquired reading spectacles.  "I would like for you to request that my tea be brought up by certain house elf by the name of Toopy."

            "Toopy," Morgan repeated.  "And will I know where—"

            "The House Elf division knows who he is.  If they need reminding tell them he's the one that was missing."

            "But, ma'am, if he's missing…"

            Hermione fixed a firm stare on Morgan.  "Morgan," she said slowly, "Toopy was Alonzo Fitzherbert's personal house elf, employed by the Ministry in Culpepper's department after Fitzherbert's death."  Dawning recognition flittered across Morgan's face.  "Fitzherbert was the prosecutor for the Bristol Werewolf case.  Need I continue…?"  Morgan shook her head.  "All right then," Hermione bent back to her task.  "See that he brings my tea…and thank you," she added already engrossed in her work.

            Morgan walked slowly to the door.  "But, ma'am… how do _you_ know that he's returned?"

            Smiling grimly, Hermione struck a line with flourish clear across the page of the document she was reading.  "Rubbish," she muttered.  "He's returned because he's been released."  She fiddled with the nib of her quill.  "Toopy's been employed as of late at the Culpepper mansion.  Howard Whitney, Culpepper's grandson, discovered him the other day bringing his grandfather breakfast."  Morgan's mouth dropped open.  "Whitney had him re-instated at the Ministry."  

            "I see."  Morgan still looked puzzled and opened her mouth to ask another question but was interrupted by a knock on the door.  "I'll bring up the apparating treatise for the Marshall Islands in a bit, ma'am," she said loudly as she opened the door.  "Sir," she bowed her head politely.

            Hermione sighed.  So many disruptions...  "Harry!" she said with surprise as her chum passed through the doorway and perched himself on the edge of her desk.  

            "'Lo, Hermione," he said with a tired smile.

            "Tell me," she answered firmly, noting the shadows under his eyes and the recently acquired hollows in his cheeks.  She had always prided herself in being able to read Harry as simply as if she were analyzing herself, a trait that at one time had irked Ron, but lately a new type of mask had fallen over him, secreting his thoughts further inside than ever.  This gaunt appearance of his could only mean one of two things now that Voldemort was gone—either something was wrong with his relationship with Ginny or things were going terrible bad with Remus and Sirius.  

            "Hermione, d'you hear from Cecilia?"

            She shook her head.  "No…but should I have?"

            Harry yawned.  "When's the last time you slept, Harry?" she scolded him.

            "I don't know…yesterday…day before…I've got to return to Croatia tomorrow morning."

            "Oh Harry," she said softly.  "But you've just returned… does Ginny know?"  He shook his head.  "Harry…" she argued.  "You know what she'll say…"

            He straightened and picked up a small glass ball barely larger than a Snitch.  It reminded him of a monstrously-sized cat's eye and he rolled it about in his hand.  "Cecilia's located Margaret's Pensieve.  She's securing clearance for you, Remus, Sirius and Whitney for Wednesday."

            "Margaret's got a Pensieve?" Hermione looked at him in disbelief.  "Why haven't I been told?"

            Harry smiled at her dryly.  "I think I'm telling you now."

            She waved him off impatiently.  "Today's Friday…that gives us five days to learn how to operate and read it…somewhere I think I remember seeing something about recording devices that function something like a Muggle camcorder…and…" she started yanking open drawers.  Harry watched her in amusement.  

            "Er…Hermione?"

            "Wait…wait…something's here…" she tapped at her forehead, muttering a string of words that Harry couldn't quite make out.

            "Hermione," he shouted.

            "What?" She looked at him, startled.  "Harry this is extremely important!  You should have told me the minute you knew—think of all the time we've wasted!"

            "If you'd listen to me and shut up for a minute, you'd find all your answers pretty fast."

            She narrowed her eyes.  "What are you talking about, Harry?"

            He smiled knowingly.  "You've forgotten it seems."  

            Blowing out an exasperated breath she regarded Harry sagely.  "I don't forget…I simply…misplace my memories."

            "Misplace, forget, whatever," Harry laughed.  "Hermione, _I_ know how to operate a Pensieve.  It's simple."

            "You!"  She stared hard at him.  "Who's Pensieve?"

            "Dumbledore's.  'Member?  The Twi-Wizard Tournament… Barty Crouch, Jr."

            "Ah… yes.  I'd for…well, that slipped my mind." She sat back down and glanced at the mess of her papers Harry's bum was making.  "Harry…" she glanced down pointedly.  "Do you mind?"  Together they walked over to her couch, removed the pile of apparating treatises and sat down.  "Tell me how it works."

            "It's quite simple actually," Harry began.  "It starts out looking like a basin of swirling gasses, I s'pose…kinda like if light were made liquid and you just want to grab hold of it…grip it and kinda squeeze it like."  Hermione nodded, not quite sure what Harry meant, but certain that there was a book somewhere that could explain it with a bit more theory.  But for the time, she merely smiled encouragingly.  "But," he continued.  "I didn't know what I was looking at, you know, and knowing me," he gave her a boyish grin, "I had to figure it out, so I poked at it with my wand."  Hermione gasped.  Did Harry not know what kinds of things happened to Wizards when they put their wands into foreign places?  She rolled her eyes.  "Then things kind of shifted—first everything swirled very, very fast and then nothing.  It was like looking into a basin of glass.  Perfectly clear and absolutely still."  He paused.

            "And?" she prodded.

            A faraway look came into Harry's eyes.  "…and there at the bottom of the basin was a room—it was like looking into something through a secret window at the very top.  At first I could only see what was directly in my line of vision, rows and rows of witches and wizards sitting around this one chair in the center of the room.  But I was curious to see what else was in the room, what the circular window was blocking, so I leaned in closer…and that's when my nose touched the surface and I was yanked into the scene."

            Hermione gasped.  "Like a portkey?  You fell into the room?"

            "Something like," Harry shrugged.  "That's the key, I think—touching the surface with part of your body and then you can actually get into the memory."

            "But how did you—why _that_ memory?"

            "I don't really know.  All I know is that they can't see you or hear you, but _you_ can hear and see everything.  Like a silent witness.  But the scenes shift, ya' know.  Because people don't think linearly—thoughts are broken up."  
  


            "Fragments, yes," Hermione nodded. 

            "You can see and hear things without transporting yourself into the actual memory.  In fact, I don't think it would be wise for all of you to go in all at once because the key to getting _out_ of the memory is having someone on the outside of the Pensieve pull you out…and I don't know if it has to be the owner or who.  Dumbledore pulled me out the last time."

            "It was Crouch's son's trial, wasn't it?" Hermione said in a slightly choked voice.  "The memory you fell into."  Harry bowed his head.  "You told us there was a chair…with chains…" she swallowed hard against the lump that persisted in wedging in her throat.  "You're thinking about Remus now, aren't you?"

            "Hermione…if you could've heard the jeers…the way they all just laughed.  And then Dementors just kinda glided in, and I could _feel_ them…"  She placed a hand on his arm.  "I know they're not going to have Remus Kissed, but all the same.  It's no place for an innocent man, and god, hasn't he been through enough?"  Harry dragged his hands through his wild hair.  Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

            "But Harry," she tried to reassure him, "we've all been working tirelessly on Remus' case—we'll win, we've just got to."  Her voice was steady.  

            They fell silent for a long moment.  Both unsure about the validity behind her words.  In principle the words were the catalyst that kept them fighting day in and day out—the same motivating force against injustice that prevailed in the long run against Voldemort.  But with this new blackness settling down amongst the wizarding population, amidst this resurgence of unmitigated hatred there was a new element to the idea of light overcoming dark…an aspect which bespoke of the fear that no matter how many efforts made to the contrary, a new type of evil would always rear its dreadful head and try to swallow whole the goodness of humankind.

            Hermione played with the cuff of her robe.  "Harry."

            "Yeah, I know.  Sometimes Dumbledore would kinda shake the Pensieve.  Sort of hold it by the edges and swirl the liquid about and different memories would appear and talk to him.  Snape was there…and that Bertha Jorkins woman."  Harry turned to stare at Hermione.   "He's amazing, you know."

            "Yeah, I know…" She leaned back against the couch.  "I suppose we could use one of those recording quills Ginny gave Sirius.  Harry, what do you think would happen if one of us were to get _stuck_ in her Pensieve?"

            Harry looked at her with alarm.  "Hermione," he warned.  

            "I know, I know…but think of how much could be accomplished if say, one of us were to go inside and just _stay_ there awhile.  One of us could go through years of her memories in the time it would take all of us standing around just staring at a few images.  It doesn't seem as if time is linear inside the Pensieve, so in reality maybe we'd only be gone a few minutes while zooming through hours of time."

            "No," Harry said firmly.  "It's dangerous, even Dumbledore knew to pull me out when he did."

            "Or maybe he knew _when_ to pull you out, Harry, because of what he was afraid you would see," Hermione retorted.  "You're hardly an expert at all Pensieves just because you've been inside one."  She ignored the expression of hurt on his face.  "I'm sure there's plenty involved in breaking into a Pensieve."

            "Talk to Dumbledore at least.  He'd know how these things work better than anyone.  You can't just go off and put yourself into danger without thinking of the consequences!"

            "Like you," Hermione returned archly.

            "It's different," Harry argued staunchly.  "Besides, you know Remus and Sirius wouldn't go for this plan of yours.  Remus would rather die before harming any of us."

            "All right," she conceded.  "I promise to talk to Dumbledore about this—but I'll have you know, I'm going to figure out a way to maximize the time we have with Margaret's Pensieve."

            "I'm not expecting anything less from you, really," he replied caustically. 

            "But just the same, Harry, I'm not letting you think—" a soft knock at the door interrupted Hermione's lecture, and she threw Harry a look that clearly read, "This isn't over yet," before calling out, "Enter." 

            A tiny demure little figure, years younger in appearance than Dobby if that was all at possible considering the amount of wrinkles on his face, peeked inside, a heavy tray in his hands.  

            "Over on the table will be fine, please," Hermione instructed.  "…Toopy."

            "Excuse me, miss?" the elf squeaked, his round eyes growing even rounder.  The plates on the tray clattered.  

            "Your name is Toopy, am I right?" Hermione asked kindly reaching into her pocket.

            "I is not sure what you is meaning, miss," Toopy stammered watching fearfully as Hermione carefully matched up the piece of fabric left in her drawer to the torn edges of his garment.  "Please, miss… please…Toopy is sorry, miss…Toopy in only following Master's instructions!" he wailed pitifully.  

            "Hermione," Harry whispered, cringing at the huge tears rolling down the ugly little creature's wizened face.  

            "Toopy, here, take this."  She handed him a tissue from her robe.  "Dry your eyes, Toopy, you're not in trouble."  Hermione wondered how best to handle this wailing creature that had proceeded to blow his rather large nose almost clear through the tissue.

            "Toopy is knowing nothing, miss…nothing!"

            Hermione knelt down in front of the elf and fixed him with a firm stare.  "Toopy," she began, "I know you took the transcript from my desk.  Your old Master's transcripts."  Toopy began to shake.  "Not your new Master, not Master Culpepper—"

            "Master Culpepper will beat Toopy, miss, he will… he will."

            Harry squirmed on the couch.  "Hermione…"

            She raised a hand to silence him.   "Your old Master, Master Fitzherbert.  The Master to whom this transcript really belonged to."  Toopy raised his knobby fingers to his face and began to sob.  "Toopy, Toopy listen to me…please.  I promise, here look," Hermione took her wand out of her pocket and placed it on the floor between them.  "I'm not armed.  I won't hurt you.  Toopy…please stop crying…my friend needs your help.  I am _asking_ for your help."

            Muffled cries filtered through the entwined fingers.  "No one is _ever_ asking Toopy for help.  Everyone is always _telling_ Toopy what to do." Sob.  "Toopy is sorry, miss…but the transcript is gone.  Master is burning it."

            "Burned it?" Hermione said blankly.  "Sweet Merlin…_no_."  Toopy began to wail anew.  "No, no," she rushed to say.  "Toopy, listen to me, this is important.  What do you remember from when you served Master Fitzherbert?  Do you recall what happened during the trial?"

            Tears trickled down his cheeks in little rivulets.  "New Master is bad…bad…he will punish…"

            "No, no he won't.  I promise you, he won't hurt you."

            "Not Master hurt Toopy!  New Master kills Master!  Master is dead…Master is dead…" The little elf curled his arms tight around his chest and began to rock.  

            With a rush of sympathy, Hermione reached out and gently placed two fingers on his bony shoulder.  "Okay, Toopy…that'll do…thank you."  She sighed tiredly and gently skimmed her fingers along the dry brownish grey skin.

            Through his sobs, Toopy stared at Hermione and began to speak in a hollow, creaky voice: "Master is pacing…Master is so tired, so tired…no sleep but Toopy is knowing that Master is worried."

            "And why is Master Fitzherbert worried?" Hermione prodded.

            "Toopy is seeing things…dreadful things…Toopy is hiding in dark corner in Master's study.  Master is arguing with New Master…yelling…screaming…Master is saying he is wanting out…he is not wanting to lie anymore…he is wanting to say the truth!" The little elf was quickly growing animated.  No longer were tears flowing down his cheeks.  A passionate flame flickered in his round blue-veined eyes.  "But Master is weak…New Master is cruel…so cruel," he snarled.  "New Master is raising his wand and is pointing at Master and screaming and screaming and screaming!"  The elf's howls shrieked towards the ceiling.  "New Master is screaming 'Cruciatus'!"

            Hermione gasped and met Harry's eyes frantically.  

            "Master… oh Master…Toopy is scared…Toopy is trying to help Master but New Master is strong…too strong…and Toopy is weak…Toopy is not worthy," he choked on a sob.  "New Master is laughing now and says, 'No one will know the truth now, werewolf lover.'"

            "Oh, Harry," Hermione choked.

            Toopy wrung his hands.  "Master is dying…Master is asking for Toopy…Master is looking for Toopy and I is running to him…to do anything for Master.  New Master is leaving but I is fast…so fast…I is getting to Master and he is whispering to Toopy, 'The drugs…see to the drugs, Toopy.  The wine…' and then he is silent.  And," he was crying in earnest now.  "New Master is coming back and killing Master…killing him…and Toopy is taken away.  Toopy belongs to new Master now…"

            Hermione struggled not to cry.  She knew her face was probably as ashen as Harry's.  She handed a wad of fresh tissues to the elf.  "Toopy…I want you to know how very grateful I am to you—you must know that I'll do anything to help you.  Anything at all."

            "Miss is brave.  Miss is deserving the truth to help miss's werewolf friend."

            "Why Toopy!" Hermione exclaimed with astonishment.  "What do you know about him?"  

            "Toopy is knowing everything, miss," he said archly.  "Toopy is knowing that miss's werewolf friend is a daddy and that the New Master is trying to kill him."

            "Yes," said Hermione carefully.  "But Toopy, you can't say anything about our talk.  You know you'd get into trouble don't you?"

            "Oh yes, yes, miss!  Toopy is quiet.  Toopy is not to say anything…anything to nobody."  He bobbed up and down nervously.  

            Hermione nodded.  "Perhaps you should return to your duties," she said kindly.  The little elf walked dejectedly towards the door.  "And Toopy," she called after him.  "Thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.  I'll find you if I need to ask you anything else."  The little elf bowed respectfully and then dashed from the room.

            She turned Harry and knew that the expression of disbelief in his eyes was mirrored in her own.  "What do you suppose…" he began just as she said, "I _thought_ that Culpepper might have killed Fitzherbert."

            Shrugging, she proceeded to pour two cups of steaming tea, deftly stirring in the cream and sugar just the way Harry liked it.  Sitting across from him, steam clouding his glasses, she pondered over the details of the strange conversation.

            Finally with an air of resignation, she said, "I'm guessing the transcript's lost for good then.  Damn…"  Harry cocked a brow at her.  "Yeah, yeah..." she muttered.  "But what did he mean about the drugs?  'See to the drugs…the wine'?  Some type of poison, do you think?  Perhaps Culpepper poisoned Fitzherbert before attacking him with the Cruciatus?"

            "I don't know…but there's something bloody fishy about Culpepper murdering Fitzherbert.  And you heard Toopy.  Culpepper called him a 'werewolf lover.'  The prosecutor—the one who was responsible for making sure the jury decided to execute Dietmar Huber.    You could almost ask what Culpepper was trying to hide."

**********

            Five house elves banded together in a tight group, their bony arms clutching at each other with terrifyingly strong grips as they set out to investigate the smell of smoke that had crept down into the kitchen.  Working as one unit they shuffled across the oak floor and into the grand foyer.  

The sight that met their eyes nearly petrified them.      

            In the center of the dancing inferno was the portrait of a man emblazoned in the light of a millions tongues of flames, licking, snapping, hissing… Curls of smoke twirled with serpentine-like grace across crimson lined black velvet robes, almost as if the fire itself was afraid to touch one of the devil's own.  

            Those were the serpent eyes… emerald jade…cut glass orbs of crystalline brilliancy that began to melt as the oil paints long ago set to canvass succumbed to the heat…never to intimidate again.  Charles Culpepper's reign of terror was over.   

            The door to the front of the Culpepper mansion slammed shut.  A young man with short blonde hair tousled at the edges strolled down the stone path, kicking leaves about carelessly.  In his hands, twirling like twin batons, were the wands, still warm from the fire.

            A resounding cheer broke free from the mouths of elves.  

**********

Remus folded the last of his shirts and put them into the dresser.  Shrugging out of his robes, he slid into a pair of worn jeans and a light gray pullover.  He was aware of the fact that the curry wouldn't cook itself—and as Sirius was quite inept in the kitchen there was hardly any assurance that either of them would be eating tonight if he didn't leave the room.  With a resigned sigh, he checked to make certain that his bandage was secure and headed down the stairs, intrigued by the noise coming from the kitchen.

"Sirius," he passed through the door way and stopped.  With that ridiculous flower apron tied about his waist, Sirius was the paragon of a fifties housewife gone to seed.  Remus walked over to the stove and peered down into the pot which, thankfully, had been turned off.  

"Sirius…why is the water brown?"

Sirius shot him a glance and continued with his chopping—mutilation more likely, Remus smiled.  "I think it's just…gravy…Moony.  Hey, do you reckon that when the potato crumbles under the knife it's done enough?"

Remus reached into the sack of potatoes and observed at the soil covered object in his palm.  He cleared his throat.  "Dirt, my dear Padfoot."  His lips twitched.  "Did you think to scrub them perhaps?"

"Scrub what, eh?" Sirius hacked away at a particularly large spud.  Soon a pile resembling potatoes caught in the path of a machete covered the end of the cutting board.  Wiping his brow, he reached for another potato.    

Laying his hands over Sirius', Remus leaned forward and rested his chest against his mate's back and his chin on his shoulder.  With slow even rocking motions he guided the knife along the surface of the cutting board and deftly sliced the potato into perfect sections.  Slim fingers scooped up the mealy flesh and tossed the bits into the pot.  He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled.  

"Just like this," he instructed softly, picking up a new potato.  "Visualize a rocking chair, Sirius…the way the bowed legs sway forward…then back…the momentum and weight of the object forcing the equilibrium back…and forth… that's right…perfect."

"Well bloody hell," Sirius exclaimed with pleasure after a moment, surveying his small pile of slightly misshapen potatoes.  Remus laughed and kissed the side of his neck, his lips lingering for a brief moment.

"Shall I see to the rest of the dinner?" Remus inquired with a straight face.  Pork, celery, carrots, onions and curry powder were placed on the counter next to the stove.  As with most of the things he did in life, Remus took particular pleasure in the steadiness and reliability of patterns.  There was a formula to cooking, a logic that at the same time lent itself to creativity and imagination.  With the swift sure movement of an artist's touch, Remus created neat little piles of vegetables.  He tossed a bit of oil into the hot pan and waited for it to sizzle before dropping in handfuls of fragrant, spicy onion.  

Behind him, Sirius uncorked a bottle of red wine.  

A long handled brown wooden spoon stirred the onions about until a glossy sheen resulting from the sweat of the liquid formed on the surface.  Remus threw in for good measure a few extra handfuls of pork before adding the rest of the vegetables to the pot.  A few neat splashes of water and a liberal scoop of powder, and he turned about and appraised Sirius silently.  Sirius who stood leaning against the side of the kitchen table, sipping from a wine glass, the ridiculous apron tossed carelessly over the back of his chair.  

            "It's good to be home." He took another sip of the wine.

            Remus took the proffered glass and raised it slightly in a silent toast before lifting it to his own lips.  "I'll drink to that," he murmured.  One of his favorite things to do was watch the play of emotions dance across Sirius face.  If there was one thing he could be truthfully honest about, it would be his own jealousy at the ease at which Sirius gave into the sentiment of the moment—be it the maddened anger aimed at a usually deserving individual, the staunch resolve when one of his own was injured, the brilliant way he smiled at a object or person or saying that he thought beautiful, the all consuming display of ecstasy during a moment of impassioned lovemaking… Even when Sirius was confused, dismayed, or simply unsure of himself he had difficulty hiding it.  He was not, Remus reflected, graced with the power of lowering and raising the mask of polite nonchalant indifference that had become his own shield.     

            And he loved him for it.  Loved the brashness that encompassed the way his mate moved through life—as if by accepting the mundane and doing nothing to change it, he, too, would become something of an enigma, a person of little consequence and of no regard.  And to Sirius Black, man extraordinaire, person of a great deal of importance (at least in his own opinion), he could think of nothing less appealing than hiding behind a façade not of his own volition.

            It wasn't this simple for Remus—Remus, who despite his lycanthropy, was by nature a more reserved individual, prone to great lapses of personal reflection in which outward displays of sentiment were displayed only after a great deal of contemplation.  Perhaps this is why, Remus reasoned swirling about the liquid that shone purple crimson in his glass, we work so well together.  The rational element of his brain suggested at times that perhaps he might have been better off had he found a mate as equally devoted to the passions of literature, music, cooking and philosophical ruminations as he.  

A partner who, when strolling through a glade of sun-kissed amber stalks of foliage at Bosworth Field would agree with him that yes, perhaps this was the spot where King Richard knelt praying for guidance before the battle that would change the course of English history; and what do you wonder was going through his head at that epic moment when he could probably feel the thunder of Henry Tudor's troops roaring over the hill in a bid to claim the crown?  To be conquered or be conquered...and Remus would ask in turn in a dreamy voice, "Do you ever think the human mind is equipped to deal with the inevitability of death when faced with one's own mortality?"  Instead, he strolled side by side with a man who drank in all the beauty about him with the whole-hearted impatience of a child and exclaimed, "I could build a ramp right alongside that glade of trees, Moony, and launch the motorbike off this jump I've been designing…here, let me explain the physics of it to you…"  And Richard would disappear with a poof of vapor as oil cans and ignitions dominated the conversation.

            But anyone else wouldn't have been Sirius.  This mystical person would never be found squatting in the shed behind the house up to his elbows in dirt and grime, grinning foolishly at the purr of a piece of machinery.  There would be no forced sojourns on broom sticks, cutting through tree tops at ridiculously dangerous paces, afraid for one's life.  This someone with his identically matched reading specs would never think to distract a lover buried a bit too long in a thick dusty tome with an impromptu rendition of Abba's "Dancing Queen."  

Ah yes…indeed there was no one else in the world that completed him so wholly, someone who made him actually want to discover the things in life that frightened him or were of little personal interest.  And the true beauty of it all was that there was really nothing rational about love anyway.

Remus glanced down into his glass and watched as the lights from the kitchen were reflected on its crimson surface.  The bubbling from the pot reminded him of his own hunger and he moved to begin cooking the rice.  The sound of rattling flatware and of plates proved that Sirius was setting the table, and for a while longer, Remus basked in the silence of the familiar territory called home.  

As they sat across from each other, each blowing at turns at the steaming food which was still too hot to eat, Sirius fiddled with his fork, his unease transparent.  "Moony, I've spoken with Harry."

"Hmmm?"

"…and it's a fake.  This letter from Bergman—we don't think it genuine.  There's inconsistencies that worry us…for instance, it instructs me to apparate from a spot Aurors never travel from.  And the way the mission is worded it sounds as if it's only just begun and my help is needed immediately, when according to Harry, Igby's been making the rounds down there and is nearly done with the lot."  He passed the letter across the table.

Remus opened it and scanned the contents.  "You know there's something awash here?  Or is it just speculation?"

Sirius slumped in his chair.  "Gah…I don't know, Moony.  Harry offered to put out feelers—" at this Remus looked up at him, "but…but I told him not to.  Who knows who's managed to infiltrate the Division.  According to my understanding of the way the chain of command works, there would be no way to forge a directive, but clearly something's at work here…and…well truthfully I don't want to open up another can of worms."  His eyes searched Remus' face.  "We've got enough to deal with, and I'm stretched…stretched to my limits, Moony.  I can't take _another_ inquisition on top of this one, and that's what it would be if I challenged this."  

"There's something else, isn't there?" Remus noted.

"Honestly?" Remus quirked a brow at him.  "Yeah…it's just not important to me anymore," Sirius answered with a note of resignation in his voice.  He stirred about his food restlessly.  "What's the point, Remus?  Fighting off insurrections?  It's ridiculous to search out these battles—they're everywhere.  It's human nature.  We're not going to live in harmony and that's that.  I'm exhausted by it; someone else can take up my spot.  I'm tired of the hatred and this mad compulsive need for absolute power that seems to drive these people."  He reached across the table and gripped Remus' hand tightly.  "I've got too much to lose right here.  You, Elizabeth, my family…_my heart_.  I'll fight for you.  I'll fight to save what's important."

Remus didn't know what to say.  His stomach quaked in that odd unsettled way it always did when faced with the responsibility of choosing one thing over another, and he found he had to take several deep breaths before he was able to breathe without difficulty again.

"…all this time since my release…since I was pardoned…I've been trying to forgive myself.  And I have, I have…but I've been driven to go beyond that, to search out ways to find retribution, and maybe, I think this work with the Division, this quelling of Death Eaters gave me strength.  But I don't need that kind of security.  It's not real.  This," he shook Remus' hand.  "This is _real_."  He pointed towards one of Elizabeth's bottles hanging upside down in the dish rack.  "_That's_ real.  All of this—but not the fighting.  Not that…not anymore…  Am I being unreasonable?"  Real fear slashed across his haggard face.

Sitting across from the man who had caught up his hand within fingers capable of squeezing the life out of someone, Remus let his heart open and damned all the consequences, which was the way of love.  

Slowly disentangling his fingers from Sirius', Remus left his chair and walked around the table.  He stood in front of Sirius and sighed as he felt the other man press his face against his chest.  There were no words to be said that could replace the transmittal of love, real love, read through the simplicity of touch.  And so he wrapped his arms around Sirius and just held him.    

**********

            That evening Cecilia walked into Ward 1 carrying a fresh pile of towels.  As she passed by her desk she noted with surprise that the letter from Allister Dougray had been moved.  Frowning, she set down the towels and picked it up.  The seal of the Muggle envelope had been neatly sliced open, almost as if the reader hadn't wanted her to be aware that it had been tampered with.  

            Impatiently, she pulled out the letter.  _My dear Miss Bracey,_ it read. _I am writing in the hopes that perhaps I can explain a part of myself, of my life to you, in the hopes that you don't think I am a man of little conscience…_

_I sensed a reticence in your reply to my announcement that Elizabeth Dougray is indeed my granddaughter, the only child of my daughter, Julia, with whom I have been estranged these past twenty-five years.  Until Margaret Lancaster approached me at my office I had no idea my daughter had even been with child.  I take full responsibility for the rift between Julia and me; for you see ten years ago in a moment I shall regret for the rest of my life, I caused the death of her mother.  Alexandra and I were returning home from a social engagement in which I had imbibed a bit too freely, thus losing control of the vehicle I was driving.  Alexandra died instantly at a fault entirely my own, and Julia has never been able to forgive me.  She blames me, and rightly so, for the way in which I destroyed her life.  Her mother was dead, I was sent away, and she became a ward.  She was only eight years old.  Her entire family was torn apart—destroyed irrevocably.  When I was released five years later she was gone.  I had never been able to locate her until recently when Margaret Lancaster, bless her heart, found her for me.  You can imagine my sorrow when I discovered that Julia has been working as a prostitute since she was fifteen.  __Elizabeth__ was the result of an affair she had with a man she had deceived herself into believing loved her.  But Julia is home now and that's what is important.  She claims to hate me still, but I can see past that, and what I see is a scared girl who desperately wants a second chance at life.  Like what I've been granted.  A chance at love.  I haven't had a drink in twenty-five years and would do anything to change the past, but I can't.   What matters to me now are my family and Elizabeth.  Please, Miss Bracey, I am only asking for a chance to see my granddaughter—a chance to get to know her and to love her._  _Please allow me this chance.  Yours truly, Allister Dougray._

            Cecilia folded the letter and sat in the falling darkness.  The irony of the situation was not lost on her—she who had no memories of a mother or a father was responsible for the elevating and dashing of the hopes and heart wishes of three men identical in their desire for a family.  The implicit weight of her impending decision was crushing her.  How to breathe in a situation like this…the very essence of staying afloat seemed foreign and somewhat ridiculous.  Her only hope was for something outside of her control to make the choice for her.

            She hoisted herself from her chair and walked the line of cribs checking to make sure the children were all right.  _All right_… she laughed hollowly.  Baby Hugh sat playing with a set of blocks in his crib.  The baby with the aquamarine eyes and the golden curls batted away at the mobile twirling above and around her head.  And Elizabeth…the little girl lay on her back listlessly picking at railing of her crib.  All the toys Genevieve and Cecilia had placed about her were ignored.  But at least she was alert.  That was a positive sign.  She passed her hand across Elizabeth's downy cheek and moved on.  

            The door to the ward opened and in walked Genevieve, a tray in her hands.  She smiled as she passed Cecilia, asking over her shoulder if she were hungry.

            "A bit…Genevieve…" the other girl turned slightly at the note of hesitancy in Cecilia's voice.  "Did you happen to open my letter?"

            Looking a bit put out Genevieve stirred milk into her tea.  "What letter?" she asked cautiously.

            "This one.  From Allister Dougray—Elizabeth's biological grandfather."  Cecilia waved the envelope.  "I found it opened on my desk."

            "Nooo…I didn't open your letter."  

            With a small barely audible sigh, Cecilia handed her the letter.  Perhaps she had opened it herself and then put it down on the desk unread.  Anything's possible, she thought tiredly.  

            "…what are you going to do about him?"

            She looked up, startled, and realized that Genevieve had been speaking to her.  "Dougray?" she asked, confused.  Genevieve nodded.  "I…I dunno.  Don't really want to do _anything_ about him.  I just wish he'd go away.  Elizabeth's mother is a prostitute—_was_ I suppose if you want to believe Dougray.  Supposedly he's trying to reform her—have a second chance at being a proper father.  But don't you think that love—that a bond—counts for _something_?  What about Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black, huh?  You saw the way they connected with her.  What's going to happen to Elizabeth's parents if they go through all of this and then…_nothing_?"  She stirred her tea dejectedly, her appetite done for.  "It's just so bloody unfair.  They've been waiting for this chance forever and she, this _prostitute_, threw her baby away.  She didn't even want her!"   

            "These things are always complicated," said Genevieve, "but let's not loose hope.  Not just yet."

            Cecilia took back the letter and crumpled it into a ball.  She tossed it into the waste bin.  "It's not going to happen.  Elizabeth is _their_ daughter.  Nothing will convince me otherwise," she said firmly.  "I'll keep him away somehow…he doesn't even believe in magic, why d'you think he'd believe in werewolves?  We'll look crazy to him."  Her tongue went out and passed over her lips, and when she next spoke the urgency in her voice made her loud: "I want to perform a memory charm on him.  He'll never remember any of this.  Elizabeth will be safe then."

            "No.  You can't.  Miss Lancaster would kill you."  Genevieve's cup rattled against the saucer.  

            "But to give her back…to break their hearts?"

            She shook her head firmly.  "Cecilia, listen to me.  There's a lot of politics involved here—you understand this.  It's not a custody case.  Dougray is a pawn in this exploit just as Elizabeth's adoptive parents are.  Erasing Dougray's memory won't solve anything.  Miss Lancaster will only pull another trick out of her sleeve.  Think of her influences already—what makes you think she'll ever allow Elizabeth to return to Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black?  As long as she's in charge it will _never happen_."      

            "I don't care," was Cecilia's immediate response.  "He's just an added complication to an already incredible mess, and I don't know what to do!"

            "I see…" Genevieve examined her closely.  "That's it then…you're feeling responsible.  Cecilia," she reached out and touched the other girl's shoulder.  "Please… think.  You've got to handle this one thing at a time.  And you need to eat something.  Here," she handed her a plate containing toast and marmalade.  "Eat."

            Wordlessly Cecilia took the food.  It tasted like cardboard.  "What's the point?"

            "Hmmm?" Genevieve looked at her, clearly hesitant.  Cecilia could tell what she was thinking: she's finally gone mental.  

            "This," she gestured her arms about the room.  "We're here, stuck here actually, working day in and out with little reward, playing god in childless couples' lives and I _hate_ it.  I'm expected to be able to identify the person who I think will make a proper parent but I…I've…never even _had_ a mother—" her voice wavered.  "Why am I able to hand out families to everyone but…_me_…" and with that she buried her face in her hands and began to cry.  Her heart sobbed for Elizabeth and Remus and Sirius and Allister Dougray; and it wept for the child trapped inside of her own soul who had never been loved. 

**********

            Wednesday, November 2, dawned clear and bright—a refreshing change from the relentless pounding of rain Mother Nature had delivered on England for the past week.  Remus rolled to his side, wide awake and decidedly restless.  Next to him Sirius continued to snore, an arm thrown above his head locked in a struggled with the bed post.  He hated to wake him—they had been up until two in the morning the previous night talking with Whitney—and until that moment, scholar that he was, Remus had had absolutely no idea how complex the legal system truly was.  His very head ached from the way Whitney grilled him relentlessly—first pretending to be the prosecutor, then switching sides and acting as the defense.  

            They were at three weeks and two days before trial.  The countdown had started.  Ignoring these decidedly unpleasant thoughts, he snuggled into the warmth of Sirius' back and stretched his legs along side his.  With his head he buried his nose in the veil of Sirius's hair and let the strands slide against his cheeks.  It had been quite some time since Sirius had last cut his hair, and Remus loved the way the longer locks curled slightly at the ends lending an almost boyish quality to his appearance.            

            He shifted positions slightly and draped a leg over Sirius' thighs and claimed a share of his mate's pillow.  The ceiling became the object of his reflection as he waited patiently for Sirius to awaken.  Over the past few days Remus had found much to digest.  Hermione had stopped by to relay the information she had discerned from Toopy the house elf and the instructions for operating a Pensieve, Cecilia had owled to say that the wards were set for Wednesday, and Christian Huber had forwarded copies of letters sent by his classmates in support of Remus' position.  A shimmering "Families First" badge lay on the nightstand next to the stub of a beeswax candle.  

            After a while, thinking that Sirius would never awaken, Remus crawled out of bed and slipped on his dressing gown.  Crossing to the window he pulled the curtains aside and blinked out into the bright sunshine that haloed the naked forest.  He drew a finger along the condensation on the glass pane, residuals from the night's frost.  A million thoughts swam through his head and he gnawed upon them mentally.  Provisions should be drawn up should anything happen to me, was the first issue that came to mind.  Knowing that Sirius would be furious if Remus were ever to voice this aloud, he glanced back at the bed then slipped out of the room, his bare feet making not a sound as he went to his study to add a codicil to his will.     

            Three hours later, Sirius stumbled into the room, a mug of coffee in hand and a sash tied haphazardly around his waist.  Remus carefully slid an open book over the paper he was writing on.

            "G'morning, Moony," Sirius said thickly.

            Remus smiled down at his desk and pushed up his spectacles.  "Good afternoon is more like it, Padfoot.  It's nearly half two."  The aroma from the coffee perked his senses.  

            With a groan, Sirius fell into one of the over stuffed chairs flanking the fireplace and kicked a leg up on top of the arm.  Yawning broadly, he blinked through the yellow light filtering through the windows.  "Whatcha working on?"

            "Just a bit of research," Remus said smoothly turning the page of a book of whose title he had absolutely no idea.  He leaned his elbows on the desk, glanced into his cup of cold tea and pulled a face.   "Are you hungry?"

            Sirius swung his leg lazily.  "What a question, Moony.  I'm always hungry.  It just depends on what for."  He winked.

            Remus laughed.  Sirius was truly incorrigible.  "Well, _I'm_ hungry.  For food," he clarified.  "Since you've already started," he nodded pointedly towards the coffee, "what would I have to give you to get you to fix me some eggs and grilled tomatoes?"

            "Your money or your life?" Sirius quipped.

            Remus leaned back in his chair and appraised Sirius' laughing features with dancing eyes.  "Considering I have very little money and only a fool would want my life, I've got to say you've got the raw end of the deal there, Padfoot."

            With a shrug, Sirius slid out of the chair and pressed a kiss on Remus' lips.  "Well bugger it all then.  Keep your moldy robes on that scrawny professor's frame of yours, Moony."  He strolled to the door and paused.  "What time are they expecting us?"

            Without looking up, Remus answered him steadily: "Half six.  Margaret leaves the institution at seven.  Whitney and Hermione are meeting us on the moor.  Next to the tree were we met the last time.  Cecilia'll be waiting there for us."

            "Okay…" Sirius's eyes scrutinized Remus' bent head.  "Tomatoes and eggs coming up," he said finally.

*********

            "It's freezing in here," Hermione whispered as she followed the rest of the group down the hall.  In the shadows aided by a spectery gray light, the doors to all the various rooms stood cold and imposing, locked both to keep people out…and to keep them in.  Remus, understanding her distress, slowed his steps and draped a comforting arm around her.  He squeezed her shoulders lightly.  

            "…almost there…" Cecilia whispered leading them around a final bend in the hall.  Creeping noiselessly towards the door thanks to silencing charms Hermione had set on everyone's shoes, they huddled in a small group, wands out in readiness.  "Step back," she whispered.  Carefully she traced the frame of the door and then murmured, "_Patesco_."  The tell-tale shimmering band of gold outlined the door, flashing once, twice, and then fading.  Beckoning them forward, Cecilia carefully opened the door and ushered them into the tomb otherwise known as Margaret Lancaster's office.  

            The same owl with the glow-in-the-dark beady eyes followed their movements as they crossed the room to her desk.  "It's right in here…"  She whispered the unlocking charm and slid open the slender drawer at the top of the desk.  "Watch it now…"

            Sirius and Whitney leaned in for a closer look, breaths held in anticipation.  

            "It's just as you said, Hermione," Sirius was intrigued.  The crystalline vapor separated into tiny swirling rivulets, then blended into a single whirlpool before again breaking apart.  

"Fascinating…" Whitney breathed.  The puff of air released from his lips caught a thread of vapor and sent it spinning.  "…and you say we just…stir it about a bit?"

Hermione frowned down at the basin.  Her eyes glowed brilliantly in the brightness of the substance.  Puckering her lips in consternation, she slowly lowered her wand, but—

"Wait."  Cecilia moved between Hermione and Sirius.  "Perhaps we should use my wand."  She shrugged apologetically.  "Mine's been approved by the IWPA.  I don't want to take any chances."  The four of them stepped aside and made room for Cecilia to access the basin.  She pushed up her sleeves and took a deep breath.  "Right.  Well, here goes."  Lowering the tip of her wand into the Pensieve she stirred it a bit.  "Oh!" she gasped, watching as the vapors began to swirl furiously, all in unison.

"Look…it's just as Harry said it would be.  It's slowing, see?"  Hermione pointed.  And indeed it was.  Very quickly the vapory gas like substance had stilled entirely.  "It does look like a sheet of glass.  Can you see anything, Cecilia?"  She craned her neck.

Cecilia shook her head.  "Not yet," she admitted.  "Wait a moment…there's something…oh _wow_…here, come here and have a look."

All four of them cocked their heads to the side and stared into the basin.  There at the bottom, just as Harry had said there would be, was a room.  It appeared to be an office or a library of sorts.

"We've got the eagle eye view here," Remus murmured racking his memory to try to identify the room.  He glanced at his partner.  "Sirius…does it look familiar to you?"  Sirius lowered his face closer to the substance to have a better look.

"Watch out," Hermione warned, tugging on the back of Sirius' robes.  "Remember what Dumbledore told us—only the owner of the Pensieve can remove a person caught within the memory.  It's a safeguard so that their secrets are preserved."    

            Whitney slipped on his spectacles and surveyed the room.  "Why that's my grandfather's library!" He stared in horrified fascination as four figures moved into view.  "Quick!  Hermione, the amplification charm.  Have you the recording quill, Sirius?"  

In a flash Hermione whispered "Sonorus."  What would normally work to amplify a person's voice over an entire stadium simply elevated the voices of the people inside the memory up to normal level.  

"…glad to see you could join us Fitzherbert," sneered a voice easily recognizable as Walden Macnair's.  In three chairs placed before a large desk sat the figures of two men and a woman.  From their vantage point they couldn't make out their faces, but it was quite clear that the man seated behind a desk built only to impose was the grandfather himself, Robert Culpepper, several years younger but very much the same.  

"I'd hardly be in this predicament were it not for you," the man assumed to be Fitzherbert snapped.  

A bone dry laugh that sent shivers down all the listeners' spines cut across the angry man's retort.  "Is _that_ what last night was about?"

Whitney threw Cecilia a sympathetic look.  She glanced in his direction at the same time and gave him a tiny smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.  

"…did you bring the potion, Macnair?" asked Culpepper after Margaret had finished laughing.

"Well, after my most enlightening evening with Fitzherbert here I could hardly forget it," Macnair sneered.  He laid a flask of what appeared to be a dark red liquid on the desk before Culpepper.  "It does work," he confirmed ostensibly after what must have been a questioning look on Culpepper's behalf.

"Excellent…and Lancaster, where do we stand with the child?"

Ruby red rings glistened richly from bony fingers as she tapped her nails impatiently on the arms of her chair.  "The child will come into my custody.  We're removing him tomorrow."

Suddenly the image before them began to dissolve.  Blacks and grays wove in and out of the disintegrating figures, the sound of their voices fading.  In its place a new scene was starting to take shape.  It appeared at first to be nothing more than a black canvas stretching out underneath the sheet of glass, but as they continued to stare into the basin tiny bursts of yellow began to cut through the ribbons of black.  What looked to be stars soon proved to be the tops of candles and the black the darkness of a dimly lit room.

They were forced to wait until their eyes adjusted to the change in light, a period of time that seemed horribly long as each second that ticked by meant being a moment closer to Margaret's return.  Cecilia fidgeted, Hermione bit her lip, Remus gripped Sirius' hand hard, and Whitney stood absolutely still.  Several times Remus caught Whitney looking in Cecilia's direction with an odd, guarded expression.    

Peering into the shadows of what appeared to be a small dark paneled room Sirius craned his neck and tried to see into the corners.  "This is impossible, Moony," he griped.  "I can't get close enough to make out where the walls end.  This could be _anywhere._"

Remus squinted slightly.  "Hmmm…" he pursed his lips.  "I think those are tankards on the table…"

"…and the swirling gray substance…I think that's smoke," Hermione reflected.  "The Pensieve shouldn't be cloudy so the only explanation is that it's something in the air of the memory."

"Wait," Whitney held up his hand.  "You can hear them talking…damn it…they're all talking at once."  He stared hard.  "I think this is a pub we're looking at."

"Yes…I think you're right, Whitney," Remus agreed shooting him a grateful look for drawing the lines that connected the dots.  "The question is which one?  There are a million little hole-in-the-wall pubs across Britain."

"It's a wizarding pub," Cecilia spoke up.  "Miss Lancaster would never defile herself by stepping into a Muggle establishment."  Hermione snorted.  "Well, it's true," Cecilia muttered.  "To her Muggles are second class citizens.  Barely worth her notice.  No, that simply _has_ to be a wizarding pub."

"Can you make out anything that's being said, Moony?" asked Sirius.

Remus shook his head.  Even with the advantages of his lupine hearing he couldn't break apart the different voices.  Everything was muffled into one big blur.

…and then there was a change in the current.  A crackle as if someone had adjusted the knob on a wireless.  Suddenly voices, clear sentences and distinguishable sounds of glasses being set on wooden tables and liquid splashing into tankards could easily be made out.  The vision scrolled as if on fast-forward and bar soon came into view.    

"…what can I get you to drink, ma'am?"

"Scotch, straight up."  The sound of footsteps walking away was heard.

Cecilia's eyes never strayed from the image.  It was evident that the speaker was Margaret, but what was strange was that the woman possessing her voice had jet black hair knotted into a severe bun, not the steely gray Cecilia was accustomed to.    

"…you're late."  Peevish as befit Margaret was the voice that crackled across the room.  The door to the establishment was pushed open awkwardly to reveal a bent figure shrouded in a long green cape with a hood that concealed the face.   

A soft melodious voice said tremulously, "Miss Lancaster?"  

"Is that it?" Margaret pointed towards something the woman was carrying.  A slender hand reached up and caught the edge of the hood revealing an all too familiar face.  

"Cecilia…is that _you_?" Remus was startled.  He frowned down at the young woman who stood a good distance from Margaret.  "What are you…why are _you_ in this memory?"       

Cecilia covered her mouth with her hands and gasped.  "But I've not _been_ there," she whispered urgently.  "I've never…"

Sirius looked from Cecilia to the woman in the image and back.  "It certainly looks like you.  Same hair, same eyes…your face…"

"Is someone posing as me?" she asked weakly.  Her hand fluttered nervously at her throat.

"Polyjuice, perhaps," Hermione hastened to say.  In a silent gesture of friendship, she pressed her side comfortingly against Cecilia's.  "There's about seven different ways people can impersonate someone if they know the proper techniques."  Instead of reassuring Cecilia as was her intent, she only served to make the other girl stiffen.

"There…there's something wrong with Margaret's hair," Cecilia whispered.  "It's _black_.  I've never seen her with dark hair."

Remus had been thinking the exact same thought.  And if he looked closely the woman in the memory, although bearing a very close resemblance to Cecilia, was most definitely _not_ an identical replica of the woman standing next to him.  "I don't think this _is_ you, dear," he said slowly.  "There's something not quite the same about your eyes…she looks older than you…"

"And you haven't that mole above your lip," Whitney pointed out when the woman tilted her head back and squeezed her eyes tight.

"But she looks so much like me."  Cecilia's blues eyes widened, and then widened as far as they would allow when the woman in the vision did the same.  

"Miss Lancaster, please…" the woman in the vision begged.  "…just another minute, one more minute…"

"Absolutely not.  You know the arrangement."  Margaret's bony hand brushed aside the cloak roughly.  

Everyone gasped.  Lying in the arms of the woman was a child fast asleep.  The little girl could have been no more than three years old, but even at that young age it was clear she was the woman's daughter.  Soft brown curls framed a cherubic face possessing a pair of rosy cheeks.  

"Give me the child."

"No…no…I—I've changed my mind.  I'll just take her home.  Let me take her home…" the woman's voice broke off with a sob.  She backed away several steps as if the very presence of Margaret repulsed her and frightened her simultaneously.  "I haven't signed anything yet—there's still time.  _Please_," she cried.

"Hand me the child you silly girl.  I've a family waiting for her at the institution.  They're a couple who will make proper parents.  They'll be able to offer her everything you can't."  Margaret's voice was steely.

"But not her _mother_…not love…"

Margaret waved her excuses away impatiently.  "What does someone like you know about being a mother?  We've made a bargain.  Need I remind you of the consequences?" she hissed.

Tears poured down Cecilia's cheek.  Hermione stared at her miserably.

The woman pressed her child close to her breast and cried bitterly.  "Darling, darling…" she pressed tiny kisses about the sleeping face, her tears trailing silver in the wake of her lips.  "My darling…oh god…" a low keening sound burst forth.  "Take her."  She practically threw her child at Margaret.  She spat out her next words: "Your filthy bitch.  I hate you…_hate_ you."  Even from a distance they could see how her lower lip trembled.

Margaret clapped her hand over the child's mouth.  The little girl had awoken in the wake of her mother's anguished cries and struggled frantically to escape Margaret's iron grip.  The woman reached out her hand tremulously, and then let it fall.  With wail that shattered Remus' heart, she tore at her hair and ran from the room.  The last thing they heard before the scene began to shift was the sound of Margaret's perfectly satisfied voice shouting: "Bridget McAllister, you've forgotten your payment.  Be silent, _Cecilia_."

The scene went black and Cecilia fainted.    


	17. The Darkest Hour Is Just Before Dawn

A/N: First off, sorry this took me a bit longer than I planned.  But there is A LOT revealed in this chapter and I wanted to try to get it just right…Next chapter…The Trial!! 

Happy Belated 16th Birthday to Joey Potter!!!  I am exactly one month late.  That deserves points, eh?  And loads of Moony and Padfoot hugs to my reviewers: Rowenna, Jaded Angel, Tiny Dancer, Chi, Peegchica and Joey Potter.  You are all brilliant!  Hee hee.  Oh—and Tiny Dancer, thanks for your support and sorry that you were confused at the end of last chapter!  I hope the beginning of this one will clear things up a bit.  And this chapter is also bit shorter than the last so that might help!    

Oh and for those of you of age, there is a naughtier version of this chapter that will be posted soon at the Red Moon Rising site:   But this one has been kept a nice clean, PG-13.  No worries.  

Chapter 17: The Darkest Hour is Just Before Dawn

             Madam Cressida's Most Potente Whiskey lived up to its name.  It had a disgusting habit of coating one's tongue like residuals of bitter molasses and no amount of water seemed to make it any better.  

            "Urgh…nasty stuff," Whitney grimaced, crooking his finger for another round.  "Keep it comin'," he slurred, his bloodshot eyes staring angrily into the tumbler as if it were the glass's fault that it was empty.  Altogether he was feeling decidedly out of sorts.  The short bristly hairs on the back of his neck itched like mad, and each time he reached back to scratch he experienced a momentary pause of something akin to surprise when he realized his ponytail was gone.  Pressing his forehead against the table, he tried to focus his thoughts, a process he had endeavored to do for the past two and a half weeks with marginal success.  The culmination of his failure was tonight's attempt which had led him directly to a little pub he had found on one of his midnight drunken ramblings.  And as befit his mood, he managed somehow to consume quite nicely four going on five tumblers of cheap, black market whiskey and water.  

            For a moment he thought longingly of his club on the west end of town, a gentleman's only establishment where the pure-bloods and the "royalty" of the wizarding world liked to play.  He wondered what his mates at the club were doing this very minute—probably playing high stakes cards and lavishly spending their fathers' fortunes not caring at all about the state of werewolf affairs.  He also realized glumly that they'd probably be shocked and utterly appalled were they to see him in such a state—unshaven, disheveled, drinking whiskey better left for the gutter rats and smoking generic cigarettes.  

            This lapse into this self-deprecating black mood of his was so uncharacteristically Howard Whitney that for a whole minute he allowed himself to wonder what the world would be like if he were to leave it.  Friends, family, and the grander pursuits of happiness…these were concepts he had already learned to deal without.  Showing off, cockiness, and passing though life aimlessly with no real purpose other than proving to all the skeptics in the world that he did possess a brain behind his pretty boy looks and that he simply chose when and where to use it…ahhh…now these were the things he was familiar with.  And remarkably good at as well.  It was no wonder to him that Charlie Weasley despised him and everything associated with his flippant attitude and seemingly adept ability to possess not a single grain of altruism in his whole makeup.  

            He chuckled at the memory of Charlie's face when he had learned that he, Howard Whitney, was representing the condemned werewolf.  Ah yes, it had been one thing to seek out Whitney's guidance when his friend was in trouble even though nothing in their history had ever suggested that a Whitney would have ever assisted a Weasley, but it was another thing entirely to learn that a well-respected, admired friend's life was in this very person's hands.  A person Charlie Weasley despised on principle as well as on merit.

            A tumbler of whiskey was thumped on the table before Whitney's bowed head.  With clumsy hands he reached for the handle and raised it to his lips.  "If Weasley could see me now…" he slurred spilling some of his drink on his sleeve.  "…Motherfu—"

            A shadow dropped over him…a figure with a shock of red hair and great brown eyes. 

            "Weasley?" Whitney's face registered its disbelief, but he was too tired and too inebriated to do much more than squint an eye at him and tilt his wrinkled, flushed face to the side.  "Whadaya doing here?"         

            Charlie took the seat across from Whitney and yanked the tumbler away.  "Stop.  That's enough."  

            Clunk was the sound of Whitney's head hitting the table again.  "Get out of here," he mumbled and then, "Leave me alone."  He could feel the tingles of the beginning of a sobering charm and wanted to laugh when he realized Weasley's charm was almost as ineffective as his own.  Bright stars of pain seared the backs of his eyes.  "Enough, man, stop," he protested.  "No more.  I beg of you.  Just ask for the tonic…they've a good one here."  Thankfully the explosive bursts of pain stopped, and Whitney used the time to try to regain a semblance of balance to his spinning head by pressing his knuckles tightly against his temples.    

            A little while later, Charlie pressed a cold glass into his hands with a forced, "Drink."  Whitney could feel those eyes of his boring into the top of his head.  Instead of baiting him with the usual such as, "What the hell did you put in my drink and why should I trust you?" he gulped down the liquid and waited almost impatiently for the slow agonizing burning of his esophagus and stomach lining to hit.  

            "What the hell were you thinking?" Charlie, his voice no longer firm but furiously cold.  Whitney blinked owlishly.  "You bastard, I should beat the shit out of you."  He hauled Whitney to his feet and steered him roughly towards the door, paying absolutely no attention to the way Whitney's feet seemed unable to move one in front of the other.  "We're walking back to Harry's flat then you're going to fucking pull yourself together—I don't care how—but you're not to breathe a word of this to Remus," he hissed, fingers closing tightly around Whitney's collar.  "Or to Sirius…although Sirius, I'm sure, would take great pleasure in beating the crap out of you."  His teeth clenched.  "As would I."

            Two-thirds sober, Whitney finally managed to get his legs into working order.  Then he shoved Charlie hard.  "Get your filthy hands off of me," he snarled as he righted his leather jacket.  "Touch me again and I'll kill you."  Charlie's hands curled into fists of rage and his face darkened at Whitney's threat.  "You," Whitney pointed his wand unsteadily at Charlie's chest, "have no idea—no _bloody_ idea what I've had to deal with by being Robert Culpepper's unwanted grandson."  He teetered on the cobblestones.  Right…not so sober after all, he amended.  "I fucking deserve all the bloody drinks in the whole damn world right now." 

"Try me," Charlie bit out tightly, his glittering eyes snapping in the darkness.

If there was anything Whitney despised, it was condescension.  And Weasley's voice dripped with it.  He decided in lieu of smashing in the red-head's face which would undoubtedly take a good deal of work, he'd make his explanation short and simple and get the hell out of there.  "My grandfather murdered his first werewolf, a woman who loved him, when he was barely in his twenties.  He's since developed as taste for killing.  Don't presume that you can try to reason with him because it's not about logic and facts.  The only hope we have to convince the jury of Remus' innocence is to prove that he's as human as you and me."  

Charlie grunted impatiently.  "I am aware of this, Whitney.   Tell me something I _don't_ know."

With the understanding that Remus and Sirius held Charlie in their complete confidence and the knowledge that Cecilia and Charlie's regard for each other was something a bit more than platonic, Whitney explained almost eagerly what it was that they saw in Margaret's Pensieve.  "…so there is this potion we saw in the vision that supposedly Macnair and Fitzherbert were working on prior to the trial which Hermione thinks is the same potion Fitzherbert's old house elf, Toopy, told her about.  According to Toopy, just before Fitzherbert died—at the hand of my grandfather, I might add—he had whispered something about a potion and no longer wanting to hide the truth.  Hermione speculates that the jury was drugged or placed under some type of enchantment, but there's nothing that we can be certain about just yet."

"But the trial starts tomorrow!" shouted Charlie.

"I am aware of that, trust me…_no one_, aside from Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black is more aware of that fact than I," Whitney said wryly and paused to scrutinize the man marching next to him.  "So…when did'ya get back?"

"This evening," Charlie ground out.  

With another sideways glance, Whitney asked casually, "Have you talked to Cecilia?"

Charlie's shoulders stiffened.  "I've been busy.  I'll talk to her tomorrow."

"Ahhh…so you've not heard."

"Heard?"

Smugly, Whitney quickened his pace.  "About Cecilia."

"What about Cecilia?" now there was a definite edge to Charlie's voice.

            "There's another vision in Margaret's Pensieve, one that had nothing to do with Mr. Lupin or Dietmar Huber.  It was about Cecilia…and who her mother is," he paused then added meanly, "But then how would you know.  You never wrote her.  Mr. Lupin was the one who carried her from the room and revived her.  Ahhh…yes, I remember—the call of the dragons. Of course, were it one of my friends and the girl _I_ fancied I sure as hell wouldn't be at _work_."

Charlie stopped short.  Whitney surmised that perhaps this time he had managed to deal the unflappable dragon keeper a real gut-wrenching blow.  His lips took on their old familiar sardonic twist as he waited for Charlie's reaction.

            It was slow in coming, and when it did, Whitney wasn't prepared for the prickles of apprehensive contrition nagging at his conscience.  Charlie's face was that of a man who had judged hastily and found himself wanting. 

            "Turns out that Bridget McAllister sold Cecilia to Margaret Lancaster and then fled the country.  Supposedly Lancaster had a family waiting for the baby but then decided to keep her for her own use turning her into a veritable slave of the institution.  But that's not the only thing that happened."  

Charlie stood immobile.  He appeared almost incapable of speech.  Whitney, however, wasn't fooled by his façade and didn't put it past Charlie to punch him in the face.  He continued a bit more kindly, "…there were all these tests in a later memory that showed what Lancaster put Cecilia through to see whether she was tainted with lycanthropy.  Grafts where you take a slice of werewolf skin and affix it to human skin to see if the human cells will absorb the lycanthropic ones…moon trials where she bound Cecilia to a pole and then had these minions of hers record any changes, blood sampling, silver nitrate tests…you know, just your basic run of the mill testing for dark creatures."  

            "Hell…"

"Apparently Lancaster wanted Cecilia to _be_ a werewolf—some medical experiment or whatnot she's heading up that's investigating the possibilities of lycanthropic genetic transfer.  I don't know the specifics.  But what I do know is that she paid a bloody fortune to hunt down a child of a lycanthropic werewolf mother and the closest they could find was the child of a child of a werewolf.  Turns out, of course, that Cecilia is not a werewolf.  So instead of doing anything that might jeopardize her research she marked Cecilia as a werewolf on her IWPA certificate.  Therefore when it came time for Cecilia's Hogwarts' letter, Lancaster, as her guardian, had the option to accept or decline.  And you know how that went."              

            "Does—does…" Charlie swallowed.  His face was a sickening shade of green.  "Is Cecilia aware of this?  About the tests and her status?"

            Whitney lifted his head towards the sky and let the rain drops splatter against his face.  "She passed out right after we discovered Bridget McAllister was her mother."

            "Her mother by blood but not by nurturing," Charlie voice was hard.

            With a long exhale, Whitney unlocked the front door of Harry's flat and lit the lamp on the windowsill.  The glow of the flame illuminated his haggard face, and in the deceptiveness of the light he suddenly appeared a very old man.  Charlie followed him into the flat but stood in the entrance of the room, his mouth working as if trying desperately to form a coherent sentence.

            Pouring two shots of fire whiskey, Whitney pressed one into Charlie's hand and the two of them threw them back with ease.  Drinking, as usual, was simple enough.  "Cecilia doesn't know about the testing.  Mr. Lupin warned us not to tell her just yet.  He said she's already suffered a great shock as it is and it'll only damage her further if we bombard her with these old memories."

            "So…she hasn't any idea that she's been marked as a werewolf?" Whitney shook his head.  Charlie considered this for a moment.  "And your grandfather's department doesn't even know?" 

            "I have a feeling not."

"But…_why_?  Why did Bridget sell her daughter?  And why the hell didn't anyone know?"

            "Why _should_ anyone know?  Loads of children are orphans.  It's not an uncommon phenomenon, Weasley."

            Charlie clamped his jaw furiously.

            Sitting down on an empty couch, Whitney stretched his long legs out before him and regarded Charlie frankly.  "Do you want the truth?" 

            "Of course I want the fucking truth!"

            "One of the employees working for my great grandfather discovered that back in the 1940s a werewolf by the name of Mary McAllister gave birth to a daughter and never registered with the department.  Obviously this created a huge ruckus in my great grandfather's department at the time.  Not only was there an unregistered werewolf roaming about but one who had clearly broken Section 1521 which stipulates that werewolves cannot procreate.  So now you have one, probably two, raving foaming at the mouth flesh eating beasts spawned from the devil himself roaming across Britain and someone had to pay.  So my great grandfather, in an act only a Culpepper would truly understand, sacked his entire staff, initiated this huge werewolf hunt and brought on board a new member, a nurse who went by the name of Margaret Lancaster."

            Charlie poured himself another shot of fire whiskey and gesticulated towards Whitney.  Whitney declined—his head was still suffering from the after effects of the sobering potion and the last shot of whiskey.

            "This Lancaster woman was a fanatic in the field it seems.  According to my grandfather, my great grandfather loved her.  She was all passion and vim and so incredibly ruthless for a woman.  He knew he could place the werewolf hunt in her hands, and he counted on her competency to find the werewolves.  Basically he washed his hands of the whole affair, blamed the incompetence on his former staff and went about his business which was, at the time, teaching his son—my grandfather—to be just like him."  

            Charlie raised his brows pointedly. 

Whitney's cheeks grew pink as he continued: "So Margaret was left to her own devices, but what my grandfather didn't know was that this whole time she was really trying to hatch this scientific experiment working with human/werewolf chromosomes.  Finding Mary McAllister and her child was by no part a means to exonerate my great grandfather's department of all wrong doing.  In fact, when she did discover Mary's whereabouts she never reported it to the department.  She had what she was looking for, so when my great grandfather sacked her, the IWPA lapped her right up because of her nursing skills—although I tell you, if I were injured in battle and she was my nurse I'd be praying awfully fast for a quick death—but anyway, it took Margaret nearly thirty-eight years to locate Mary McAllister and when she did…"

            "She found Cecilia," Charlie answered numbly.

            Whitney's face had long since lost its sardonic expression.  His grey eyes were shadowed with a deep rooted sadness and something reminiscent of empathy for Cecilia, her lot in life, and the secrets that could tear her apart.  Thinking back upon his own life he realized how very much they had both missed out on by not having parents or siblings or anything akin to love.  Fiona, for being his birth mother, had none of the maternal instincts he had seen displayed in even the most ornery of the Green Welsh dragons.

            "It was blackmail."

            Whitney nodded in agreement.  "This for that.  Your mother or your child."

            Charlie walked to the window and pressed his forehead against the pane.  The glass was cool under his skin, almost too cold, with streaks of rain streaming down the window.  

            Whitney watched him silently, mentally cursing himself for his selfish outburst earlier.  "What would you have done in her place?  Surely Bridget would have offered her own life to save her mother and her daughter, but Margaret refused to make this an option.  As soon as she realized Bridget was not cursed with lycanthropy, she had no use for her.  Margaret couldn't even order Mary's execution without drawing attention to the fact that she knew all the while where she was hiding, and I guess you could say that she did her only charitable deed by keeping Mary alive.  But I think this had more to do with the fact that she didn't want her experiment discovered.  That's why, twenty-eight years later, Mary and Bridget are still technically 'at large.'"

            "And Remus?" Charlie finally spoke.  "What's this have to do with Remus?"

            "Or Dietmar Huber," Whitney added.  "We can't forget the infamous Bristol Werewolf." 

            Charlie moved to sit down on an ugly overstuffed brown plaid chair across from the couch.  "I need a drink," he muttered.  "No, no," he waved Whitney away as the other man moved to stand.  "I don't really…I just…well, hell, this is an awful bloody lot to take in all at once."

            "It gets worse," Whitney warned.  Charlie groaned and splayed his fingers over his face.  "So this whole time we've all be thinking that Margaret's in cohorts with my grandfather and Macnair as part of a team trying to cleanse the world of werewolves.  An extinction brigade if you will," he paused dramatically.  "But that's not _entirely_ true.  My grandfather is, yes.  His father trained him to see werewolves as evil, and he felt himself duped when he learned that the only woman he loved was cursed with lycanthropy.  For him, it's a matter of righting a so-called wrong, and all this vindictiveness is really a strike against her.  That's why I said before it's not about rationality with him but about bigotry and prejudice and fear."

            Charlie made an unintelligible sound under his breath.

            "And Macnair…well, we all know thanks to Hermione that his parents were mauled and killed by a werewolf, so it's personal for him as well.  What's not apparent, however, is that even though my grandfather is head of the department and Macnair top executioner, it's really Margaret Lancaster who is the mastermind of the whole affair.  My great grandfather found her to be a disappointment when she failed to deliver Mary McAllister, but he was wrong.  She's crafty, cold, calculating, and clinical and my grandfather _appreciates_ that about her.  He let her back into his influence.  He's using her, she's using him.  Don't you see?  They're none of them a team, and if they call themselves that, it's the most fucked up one I've ever heard of."

Whitney scratched the back of his neck impatiently.  "Do you know what happened to Dietmar Huber's body?"  Charlie froze.  "She harvested it for her experiments.  She exhumed it after he was decapitated and kept it in some lab of hers.  It was the culmination of all her plotting.  There hadn't been a valid reason to execute a werewolf for nearly a century and Margaret needed tissue samples, blood, bone, hair…"

            "So she invented a reason to execute one?" Charlie's eyes widened with horror.  

            Whitney cleared his throat.  He remembered the group's initial reaction upon seeing this particular memory in Margaret's Pensieve—how Cecilia laid on the floor, blissfully still unconscious, but how the rest of them suffered through the physical and emotion onslaught of absolute horror and disbelief.  Mr. Lupin had been violently ill, although he tried to hide it; Mr. Black had gone so white that they had been afraid he, too, would join Cecilia on the floor; and Hermione had wept silently.  He himself, desensitized perhaps by his grandfather's telling of his first werewolf killing, had managed to offer a comforting arm to Hermione, a cleaning spell for Mr. Lupin who was too shocked to even find his wand, and a watchful eye for Mr. Black.  So this time, like the last, he felt nothing but absolute commiseration with Charlie.

            "Why…_why_?" Charlie cried hoarsely.  "For a medical experiment?  She killed Dietmar Huber for a _tissue sample_?"

            "And she wants Mr. Lupin's body for that, too."  Whitney stood and poured two fresh drinks.  For some reason, the telling of this was far harder that watching it in a memory.  

            "So…so it's _not_ about parenting issues?  This has nothing to do with what she said earlier about werewolves being proper parents?" Charlie struggled to understand.  "We're talking _science_ here?"

            "No…it's that as well.  Think logically—how can she possibly justify werewolves being parents if she can't even see them as humans?  And I told you—she's calculating.  She knows that the cry among the general population is one of save and protect your children, and what creature is feared above almost all others?  Werewolves.  Margaret knows this, and she plays this out against people's ability to be close-minded, she weaves these half truths and lies to create this sense of dehumanization, and what person in his right mind would want to entrust a child in the care of someone not human?  No…" Whitney's hands trembled as he fingered his empty glass.  "…it is a parenting issue…just not the one we thought we were fighting."

            Charlie banged his glass on the coffee table.  "I don't understand," he said hoarsely.  "What the hell kind of genetic experiment is she conducting?"       

            Whitney frowned.  "It wasn't particularly clear from the memories we saw.  We only had a limited amount of time, and we had to get Cecilia out of there," Charlie's expression grew pained.  "…but from what we could see, we were able to deduce that Margaret's trying to understand a werewolf's exact genetic compound in an attempt to recreate one without having the alpha present.  Harnessing the raw power of these beings appears to be what she's after.  With Cecilia she wanted to see if any strands of lycanthropy were passed down through the chromosome makeup from generation to generation."

            "She wants to make _more_ werewolves?  Good god…Remus must be going crazy."

            "Yeah…I imagine that he is.  Lycanthropy is a part of him but that doesn't mean he'd ever want anyone else to suffer as he has."

            "But hold on, wait a minute, if she's _killing_ them…"

            "Only a few," Whitney corrected.  "And she's using their bodies for her own purposes so it could hardly be called wasteful.  Besides, what are a few dead werewolves if she can create the ability to become some sort of scientific super-entity?  The Master Alpha if you will.  Think of what she could do with that kind of power.  If she had her way werewolves wouldn't even need to mate.  She could simply create one with an injection or gene splicing.  She'd be beyond Voldemort.  The werewolves would be her machines and she the master."

            Both men shuddered.

            And then, "Fuuuck…" Charlie whispered.  He stumbled to his feet.  "I've got to get home.  My dad…and…" he trailed off and turned in the doorway, his brown eyes pleading.  "…how's she doing?"

            "She's upset and confused," Whitney replied honestly.  "And who can blame her.  Mr. Lupin told us we mustn't force her, but she won't even consider talking to Bridget."

            Charlie swallowed hard.  "And Bridget…does she know Cecilia is her daughter?"  Whitney nodded.  "And they've not met yet?  I mean, Bridget's not tried to speak with her because I know you just told me that Cecilia won't talk and perhaps Bridget doesn't know that Cecilia knows and…" he trailed off in a confused jumble of words.  

            "Bridget was told the next day.  Dumbledore and Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black were there with her," Whitney said.  "But I don't know if Bridget's tried to talk with Cecilia.  I think that Bridget doesn't know _what_ to do at the moment actually.  I'm sure she's feeling guilty and shocked and stunned.  It's like her worst nightmare became her best dream and then now that it's happened in real life she doesn't know how to separate the two."

            "But she's her _mother_," Charlie hissed.  "She has a responsibility to her daughter.  That should be her number one priority."

            "I think," Whitney said slowly, reflectively, and with a bit more wisdom than he was normally accustomed, "I think that in her mind her number one priority is keeping what happened to Cecilia from happening to Elizabeth."         

            Charlie fell silent and then opened the door.  "Where is she?"

Whitney scanned his face as if searching for something and then said quietly, "After the episode with Margaret's Pensieve, Mr. Lupin refused to let her stay there any longer and took her back to their home.  She's quit the IWPA and Genevieve is taking care of Elizabeth," he said in answer to the automatic question forming on Charlie's lips.  

Nodding once in an abrupt gesture of thanks, Charlie apparated from the house and left Whitney with his whiskey.

**********

            Quietly so as not to wake Remus who lay sprawled across the bed, Sirius gently removed Remus' reading spectacles and studied a face that in sleep seemed so devoid of worry, so tranquil in repose.  Eternally grateful that Remus had agreed to a drink, something he had not done in these many weeks since Elizabeth's removal, Sirius had seized upon the opportunity and concocted a draught of dreamless sleeping potion which he had slipped into Remus' glass.  

            The gentle rise and fall of Remus' chest marked a peacefulness which tore at Sirius' heart.  He had wanted nothing more than for this day to simply disappear, but as it is with all things dreaded, the moment had inevitably come, and with it the startling realization that perhaps what he had dreaded most was simply the agony of the unknown, the acute misery of waiting.  For, in this moment as he sat on the bed holding Remus' hand in his own, lifelines touching, Sirius' body seemed to detach from itself.

            The clock on the mantle chimed the hour—half four in the morning.  He himself had not slept.  The second hand beat out a death march to the hour when a knock would come on their door and bring with it the beginning of the end.  A sharp flash of blue-white lightning streaked across the sky and electrified the room causing Sirius to shiver as he had not done since he was very small.  Low rumbles of thunder as if a manifestation of the despair of the two men growled about the house.  

            Sirius ran a hand across his dry face.  In the weeks since their return from Hogwarts his very heart felt as if it were drowning in a sea of suppressed tears.  Shaking his dark head, he pressed his cheek against Remus' hand and closed his eyes, glad for the opportunity to shoulder some of Remus' burden.  Insurmountable grief was to be shared and while Remus had yet to break down, Sirius knew he existed as a ghost of a man—fearful of being judged unbalanced and all the time ever watchful.  It was a dreadful way to live.

            "…Sirius?"

            Sirius blinked.  How long had Remus been awake?  

            "Come here…" Remus whispered, pulling gently on his hand.  Sirius crawled forward onto the bed and settled himself along the warm contours of Remus' body.  "You've not slept," was the gentle admonishment.

            "No."

            "How long have I been sleeping?" concern wrinkled across Remus' forehead.  

            Kissing his warm still sleepy mouth, Sirius could feel the beating of Remus' heart through his own chest.  "Not long…but you should go back to sleep."

            "No.  I don't want to sleep anymore.  There'll be plenty of time for that—later." Sirius mumbled something unintelligible and pressed his face into the soft graying hair falling across the pillow.  "…and," Remus continued quietly, "there are things I have to tell you."

            "Yeah?" Sirius mumbled—his unwillingness to look into Remus' eyes confirming his own fear of being discovered as fragile.  

            "Let me," Remus touched Sirius chin.  "I want to see you…_Oh, Sirius_…" Sirius could hear the sadness laced throughout those two words, and another section of his heart shattered.  He didn't want to hear what Remus seemed so desperate to say.  All night he had shirked away from those watchful golden eyes, hoping that something, a change in the conversation, light-hearted banter, anything would serve to prevent a stream of words he wasn't prepared to hear.  But in doing so, Remus' expression had become one of hurt, so in an attempt to not exact further pain, he had concocted the draught and prayed for sleep to overtake the words.  

            "I—I don't think…" he faltered.

            "Sirius, don't hide.  That's not you," Remus chided.

            "I know.  God, Moony, I _know_.  But I don't want to hear you say it," Sirius said hoarsely.  "I keep telling myself over and over that maybe if we don't say anything, if we just go on as we have it won't happen—that the words won't become a reality."

            Remus held his eyes steady and took a deep breath.  "Love…you know it doesn't work that way.  And besides, it's our last night together—"

            "Not our last—don't say that, Moony," Sirius said fiercely.  "You're coming home, and we're bringing Elizabeth with us."

             Remus said nothing as his hands smoothed across Sirius' tense shoulders.  

            "You believe me, don't you?  You know we're going to win."

            "Yes, yes of course," replied Remus fervently.  Dear god, yes he knew, Sirius was relieved.  Remus _had_ to understand the importance of believing.  

            "All right then."  Sirius sat up and leaned his head against the wall, draping Remus' legs across his lap.  Rain pounded against the window panes.  

            Remus folded his hands under his head.  "Sirius, I want to say this…I've been trying to for days now, so please, don't interrupt…"

            Against his waging sensibilities, Sirius agreed.

            "I keep telling myself this is not my fault, that Elizabeth's well being—and yours—are not entirely in my hands, and yet, despite whatever my brain tells me I can't seem to convince my heart…" he trailed off.  True to his promise, Sirius said nothing.  "Love is the simplest thing in the world, Sirius, but it's also the hardest.  I've learned to weather anything thrown my way because I've had to.  But this knowing that you and Elizabeth are suffering because of me is different than anything I've ever had to bear."  He touched Sirius' lips with a finger.  "My Padfoot…" 

            It took every ounce of self-control Sirius possessed to keep himself from snatching Remus up into his arms and willing them both far, far away from all the madness threatening to overcome them both.  Their home, the one place that should have been a haven was a tempest of ill-contained tension.  But Remus was speaking again…

            "…you always try so hard to protect me, but this time it's not within your control, so you must promise me you won't try anything you shouldn't tomorrow.  Promise me…please…" Remus' eyes were fierce.  "If something happens to you it'll kill me.  I can't go through that again.  Once I lost you.  Once was enough forever." 

            "And me?" Sirius could barely wrest the words out.  "What happens to me?"

            "You'll be here to take care of our daughter.  She'll need you."

            "She needs _us_, Moony," Sirius' voice cracked.  "_I_ need you.  If you think the pain of losing me then was difficult, imagine yourself inside of my heart if you left me now.  The only way I'll let you go is when I absolutely have to, and even then I'm going to put up a fight.  I fight for the things that matter to me, so don't talk like you've already surrendered.  Whitney'll get us through this, you'll see, and when it's over you're carrying our daughter home."    

            Remus' eyes were haunted.  Slowly he raised placating hands.  "Sirius…"

            "No!" Sirius shook off his touch.  "This is bullshit.  You're not going to fucking die.  This is exactly why I didn't want to talk about this!  You always get into one of your self-deprecating moods and then it's all death and doom and bloody self-sacrifice.  I want you to fight for us!  For our family!  No more resignation and acceptance!"

            Propping himself up on his elbows, Remus grabbed Sirius by the face and pulled him into a punishing kiss, mashing his lips and teeth against Sirius'.  "Is _that_ what you think I am doing?  I love you," he breathed harshly, the air thick and warm between them.  "And because I love you I'm trying to help you—I'm trying to make this easier for you.  If I were a different man I'd have killed all of them to save myself, but I'm not.  I could never be that kind of person.  Never think that's an option.  Oh Sirius, life consists of pockets of borrowed time and you have made mine so wonderful…" he murmured against the pressing insistence of Sirius' lips.  "I'll never accept what has happened but time is fleeting, and I know the danger of letting things go unsaid.  Your love is as you are—strong, passionate, fervent, unyielding, without compromise—and it's this combination that has made you strong and will allow you to make it through this no matter what happens."  

            Sirius' fingers reached out in vain to silence what he had failed to do with his lips, but Remus was quicker and moved away.

            "I love you, Sirius Black, and I always will.  Here," he touched Sirius' eyes, "where you look out at the world determined to find ways to improve it; here," his touched lingered on Sirius' lips, "with this mouth that is the opening to the soul of your passion; and here," Remus pressed his hand against Sirius' chest just over his heart.  "You said I am inside of your heart, but Sirius, you _are_ my heart, and should I leave before you, I know you'll carry a part of me with you.  Always."

In his anger-induced haze, Sirius could feel Remus' words penetrate his rage, melting the emotion into a river of black—stormy and wild, smashing against rocks which were the barriers in his life.  It was as if the voicing of Remus' words brought with it an underlying sense of panic; so he did the only thing he knew how…he allowed himself to succumb to the bitter agony of hate-fueled love and began the motions of lovemaking.

            With a single rough motion, he tumbled on top of Remus and pressed his lips to his face and down the contours of the milky-white column of his throat.  "I love you…" he began.

            "Shhh…I know that…I've always known…" Remus sucked on the bottom of Sirius' lip.  "Don't talk…just move..."

And so Sirius did…with abandon.  

**********

            "Wake up, love…"

            Groggily, Sirius opened one eye and immediately shut it against the pink white of the morning sky.  Turning over he buried his face in the pillows.

            Remus' smile was sad as he gently smoothed the dark veil of hair covering the side of Sirius' face.  He hadn't slept after they made love; instead, he had spent the hour and a half until Whitney's arrival staring out the window as the stormy night beckoned forth a dawn rosy with pinks and yellows.  Showered and dressed, his robes lay draped over the end of the bed, his wand wrapped and put away.  It had been impressed upon him that he wouldn't be able to take his wand upon his arrest.  

            "…Padfoot, Whitney will be here soon."

            With great reluctance, Sirius sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.  He made a small sound in the back of his throat.  Next to him sat Remus, a cup of tea in his hands.

            Long gone cold, Remus swished the dregs of his beverage and waited for Sirius to look at him.  He had hated waking him, but there was no time to waste, and there were things yet unsaid.  "Sirius," he murmured, scratching the back of his neck absently where the tag of his shirt rubbed against his skin.  He'd have to remember to ask Sirius to cut it off before he left.  "There's an envelope in my study that I want you to read tonight.  It's not a death letter," he added wryly at the aggrieved look Sirius sent him.  "It's simply something I'd rather you look at when I'm…not around.  You'll see."  Sirius nodded dully.  "I've made provisions so that food will be delivered regularly—you never have been one for going to the market—and Hermione and Ginny have agreed to stay here with you and Cecilia in the house.  I don't want you to be alone."

            He thought he heard Sirius whisper, "And who's going to be with you, Remus?"  Ignoring it, Remus looked about the bedroom.  Plenty of wood was stacked against the wall, everything had been tidied, and Elizabeth's cradle lay in readiness for the return of its mistress.  His gaze lingered on the stacks of books on the window seat and a pang of longing slipped past the shield he had erected about his emotions.  How he would miss… but _no_… Remus shook his head resolutely and instead offered a hand to Sirius who sat staring at it as if he couldn't comprehend what it meant.  Finally, Sirius took the offering and was hoisted to his feet.

            "I'll just shower then," he mumbled tonelessly and crossed the room, picking up his discarded clothes as he passed.  Remus watched him leave.

            The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut forced him into action, and picking up his suitcase and robes, he quickly strode down into the kitchen to rinse out his cup.  

            With a roar of fury, Remus hurled the china cup from his mother's wedding collection against the kitchen wall.  He leaned against the counter, his labored breath rushing through white lips.  Furiously, he reached back and scratched his neck.    

            "Allow me."

Whitney had materialized out of nowhere and stepped forward.  With a short muttered spell, Remus' shirt was righted and the offending scrap of fabric gone.  "I knocked…" he said by way of apologetic explanation.  Remus didn't move.  "Right…" Whitney shifted uncomfortably and fumbled with the fastening on his cloak.  The pallor of his own face hinted at several weeks of sleepless nights, and there were tiny lines next to his eyes.  "May I get you anything?" he asked finally.

            Turning slowly, Remus passed a hand across his haggard features.  "No, thank you, Whitney.  I'll be fine.  I'm just—" confused he patted his pants where his wand should be.  Raising his eyes in alarm he stared at Whitney with momentary confusion until the slow red flush of embarrassment crept across his cheeks.

            Whitney seemed to understand, for without being asked, he repaired the broken cup and gestured for Remus to follow him into the front room.  Remus sank wearily on the couch.  "Sirius is just getting ready," he said.

            "Cecilia?"

            "Asleep."

            Fiddling with his wand, Whitney went over the procedure again: "We've been granted permission to apparate to the Ministry Headquarters, Mr. Lupin, where my grandfather's division will take you into their custody.  I've arranged for the most comfortable lodgings available, and the guard supervising your quarters is an old friend of the family.  He's not," he hastened to add, "in league with my grandfather.  They had a falling out ten years ago right after the Bristol Werewolf trial.  He's promised to make certain that you're treated fairly," he finished lamely.

            Remus bowed his head.

            Whitney glanced at the staircase.  "It's all right," Remus said tiredly, knowing what the other man as thinking.  "He's promised not to act out."

            "Mr. Lupin…I'm so sorry…" Whitney trailed off as the clock chimed the hour.  Seven in the morning.  Remus eyes flashed panicked in his face.  "We have to go.  They'll be waiting for us.  If we don't show up they'll come here."

            "No."  Remus stood and swung his robe across his shoulders.  The nervous fatigue melted from his features leaving only a calm resolute expression in its wake.  "I'm ready.  But I must…let me just tell Sirius goodbye."  He started across the room and stopped short as footsteps thundered down the stairs three at a time.

            "Moony!" Sirius voice was hoarse.  "I heard the clock and—" He stopped short at the sight of Whitney standing next to Remus' suitcase.  His eyes filled with pain and he swallowed convulsively before yanking Remus forward and engulfing him with his arms, clutching and moving his hands up and down Remus' back as if by holding on he could save himself from drowning.  His long damp hair wet the shoulder of Remus' robe.

            Remus squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face tightly against Sirius' damp skin.  Suddenly he felt with an absolute certainty of presence that he wouldn't be able to ignore the grief slashing across his heart.  He could hear the hissing of Sirius' breath in his ear, he could feel the way Sirius' hands shook against his spine, and the heat from Sirius' cheek that pressed against his forehead burned him to his very soul.  

            And he understood then that the tears he had repressed for these many weeks were going to escape…and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them.

            Great heaving sobs shook his frame as he screamed mentally against the absolute injustice of a world that could create such beauty as that of child and then snatch it away without any regard to the feelings of another human being.  His mind howled with the thought of causing grief to the man who clung to him as if Remus were his life-support.  But what was most remarkable of all was that amidst the expected turmoil, Remus finally listened to the pleas of his heart, the broken anguish that spoke of self-pity and of absolute fear.  And so he wept.  He cried until there were no more tears left inside and his eyes burned red.  He released great chocking sobs that could barely sustain what little air reached his lungs.  And through it all, he could feel Sirius' own body tighten its hold, pressing him in closer, almost as if Sirius understood that this time the crying was for Remus, and for Remus alone, and that his own tears, however necessary, were insignificant to those of this man who stood crumpled in his arms.

            After a great while, Remus slowly extracted himself from Sirius' hold and quickly caressed both cheeks with the softness of his fingertips, realizing with a momentary pang that they were dry to the touch.  A sense of supreme gratitude flowed through him as he realized the sacrifice Sirius had just made for him.  With a barely audible sigh, he brushed his lips against Sirius' and let them linger for a moment, not moving, just touching.  Then, calmly, quietly, resolutely, he backed away, took his suitcase from Whitney, and disappeared.

*********

            Sirius stood rooted to the floor for a good solid minute.  He stared blankly at the spot where Remus had just been.  His hand reached out—then fell.  "No…" he moaned.  "_Remus_…"   

Unable to bear the pressure from the wheels that had been set into motion he transformed into Padfoot and buried his soft muzzle on the floor, seeking out Remus' scent.  As a dog he felt less of the human emotions such as heartache but it wasn't entirely erased.  The pounding sensation of his heart against the floor warned him that the pain was omnipresent.  Sirius missed Remus, but Padfoot missed Moony.  How did he ever think this would be better?  

He quickly transformed back into a man and sank to the floor, sitting, not moving—barely breathing.  Carefully he pressed his fingers to his lips and felt a momentary tingle of relief—Remus' kiss.  

A light creak on the staircase alerted his attention.  Cecilia stood on the stairs, her hand clutching the banister.  

"Sirius?" she whispered fearfully.

Sirius took his hands from his face and stared at the young woman watching him.  His face was red and splotchy but he somehow managed to keep his voice steady.  "Cecilia.  He's gone."

"Gone?" she echoed.

"Yes."  Sirius stood and rubbed his hands against his trousers.  He had tried to get dressed before Remus left but realized belatedly that green tweed trousers didn't go well with an orange and lemon yellow polo shirt.  Not to mention the purple tie flung haphazardly around his neck.  He yanked off the tie with a grimace.  "He and Whitney just left.  We're going to meet them at the courtroom at half three."

She walked down the last few steps and joined him in front of the fireplace.  She gazed up at him with bright eyes and then reached tentatively with her small hand.  "It will be fine.  I just know it."

"Yes…I believe that, too, Cecilia."  Sirius patted her hand absently then noticed with some concern that the room was freezing.  "Wait there," his voice was gruff.  Crossing the room, he quickly built a fire and sat squatting before the flames for a long while.

"Sirius…I uh…" she began.

After a lengthy pause, Sirius said tonelessly, "You must be hungry.  I'll fix you something.  You'll not know where anything is and—" he turned and gazed at Cecilia who was hastily trying to remember that she was in the presence of a much older man in only her night dress.  "It won't be much," he continued, ignoring the way she clutched her robe tightly across her chest and shuffled her bare feet against the floor.  In normal circumstances he would have had a good chuckle at her behavior. "Remus was the one who usually cooked, but I can make grilled tomatoes and—" 

"Oh no, I couldn't," she protested.  "I couldn't even think of eating."  In almost a defensive move she pressed her hand against her stomach and pulled a face.  

"Oh…okay," Sirius didn't know what else to say.  He wasn't accustomed to being alone with a female—much less Cecilia whose presence aside from Elizabeth's homecoming had only seemed to cause grief.  But surely one couldn't skip breakfast.  Somewhere in the back of his mind his mother's voice nagged at him about the importance of starting the day off properly.  "Tea then.  I insist," he said in a no nonsense tone.  

Cecilia followed him mutely into the kitchen and watched as he banged about—first the kettle then the china—the little cups rattling dangerously in their saucers.  He cut two thick slices of bread and popped them into the toaster.  While he readied the tea leaves, Cecilia collected the sugar and jam—two obvious items already out on the counter.  

Within a few minutes, a hot pot of tea sat brewing on the table along with two slices of toast perfectly browned, one for each of them.  She watched with great curiosity as Sirius opened up a white door and removed milk and butter.

"A refrigerator," he said in answer to her quizzical stare.  "A muggle device.  Remus is rather partial to them."  He sat across from her and lathered butter onto his bread.   She poured his tea, black, after he waved away the sugar and milk.  For her own she added two spoons of sugar and a healthy splash of milk.

Sirius glanced up sharply.

"What?" she faltered as she dropped the lid on the sugar dish clumsily.

"Nothing," Sirius mumbled.  "Only…only that's exactly how Remus likes his tea…"

"Oh…" she said in a small voice.  She didn't know what to say to that.  

The silence in the kitchen grew until it was almost unbearable.  Finally Sirius drained the dregs of his tea and leaned back limply in his chair, his sharp blue eyes appraising Cecilia's face.

"Why won't you see your mother?"

Crumbs sprayed across the table.  

"She was there, you know—last Wednesday—for the full moon run."  Sirius observed the pallor of her cheeks and the way her fingers twitched nervously against the edge of her plate.  "She asked about you."

Cecilia's eyes flew to his face.  

"We have to be accountable for the choices we make in life, Cecilia, but sometimes, for some inexplicable reason, we get a second chance to right past wrongs.  There is, as you said, no joy in being the one on the losing end, but occasionally…just possibly the other person, the one who made the decision, suffers even more."  He held her gaze firmly, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Cecilia, who knew only the scantest amount about his infamous past, wasn't able to drawn the connection between her mother and Sirius.  She could only pull her eyes away and stare mutinously into her cup.       

"It was a difficult moon this month," Sirius' voice was soft.  "Your grandmother has had a difficult life and she's old.  But the wolf part of her could sense a kindred spirit within Remus and insisted on playing.  She was beautiful, Cecilia, majestic and so very, very proud—of herself, of her daughter, of Remus…and of _you_."  

Cecilia's eyes flew back to his face.

"She asked for you—just before the transformation.  I think she sensed that there was a chance that she might not make it through this moon and she wanted us to tell you that all these years she had been very much aware of you.  She knew deep down in her heart that you hadn't died as her daughter had told her."

"She thought I was dead?" Cecilia choked.

Sirius nodded.  "Bridget told her you had died.  There was no way Mary would have sacrificed your livelihood for her own, and Bridget knew this.  It was the only way she could save her mother.  She thought you safe."

Cecilia poured them each a fresh cup of tea and shakily stirred sugar into her drink.  

"Cecilia," Sirius moved his tea to the side and reached out to grasp her hands tightly.  "Cecilia, giving up one's child is something neither you nor I will ever be able to fully identify with unless we were to do it ourselves.  One of these days Remus and I will have to explain to Elizabeth the reasons why she came to be part of our family and when we do we'll have to choose our words very carefully.  Love will be the explanation as to why she is our daughter, but in her mind don't you think she'll wonder why her mother and father didn't want her?"

With a deep sigh Cecilia twisted her hand within Sirius' fingers.  "I just wish I had known… that's all.  All this time—I couldn't recall any of it—but I could _sense_ it.  There were times—like when I met Charlie at Diagon Alley that I felt something strange.  Something that threatened to pull me apart if only it could come to the surface.  _God_," she released a choked little cry.  "I must have looked like such a coward to him!  I could barely even walk through the door of the pub."

"No, Cecilia, no.  Don't ever look down upon yourself.  None of this is a reflection on you.  You're a remarkable, wonderful, courageous woman considering everything you've been through in your life," he broke off and tried to smile at her reassuringly.  And you don't even know the half of it, he thought angrily, thinking back to the memory in the Pensieve about the werewolf testing she had endured as a small child.  "Cecilia, it's all right if you don't want to see your mother right now.  Remus and I understand.  You know that you're welcome here for as long as you choose.  And when Elizabeth comes home, I think it would be good for her—and for you—if you took on the role of a surrogate older sister of sorts."

Cecilia's eyes filled.  She nodded her thanks and then said slowly, "Was she in a good deal of pain?  My…grandmother?"

Sirius took a deep breath.  "Transformations are never easy, and yes, she suffered.  But Remus' being there helped her in a way I don't think she ever imagined possible.  She's never had the company of a pack mate; she's never known the presence of a comforting friend during her change.  And I think…no, I _know_ that years upon years of solitary transformations took a toll on her body.  She had no one to take her mind away from the urgency of release and like all werewolves confined to only themselves she took out her anger on her own body."

"But the Wolfsbane…"

"It wasn't around for many of those years."

"Will she…is she going to die?" she squeaked.

"Not today," Sirius squeezed her hand.  "She was brilliant last Wednesday.  I've never seen a female werewolf before and she's so different from Remus.  Even he was astonished.  There's softness, a kind of regalness to her face."

She stared at him in fascination.

"Your grandmother has your eyes, Cecilia, and in the darkness they were illuminated by the moon like two glowing sapphires.  I realize my own eyes are blue, but I've never seen anything like hers.  It's as if they were on fire.  And her fur was like a spectrum of silver shades, so unbelievably soft.  Absolutely amazing," he trailed off remembering that night.  

In his mind he could clearly see the moment the transformation had broken and two wolves stood side by side under the full light of the moon, their stances identical, their eyes—one pair sapphire, the other golden—illuminated like stars.  And then the she-wolf and the he-wolf raised their muzzles to the sky, up past the canopy of branches, beyond the wisps of night clouds and straight to the cold gleaming orb hanging in the blanket of night.  A howl unlike any he had ever heard broke free from their throats and sliced through the stillness of the air.  Padfoot stood alone, a solitary witness, and allowed them their release, knowing that his own canine howl was nothing in comparison to that which bathed over him.

Sirius shivered.  "It was a night I shall never forget," he mused.  "It was clear Mary had never played before and her excitement was boundless.  Remus and I could hardly keep up.  You would have thought she was a pup again!"  Cecilia smiled softly.  "…but perhaps she was…I think maybe this past moon was a rebirth for her—a chance for the wolf to finally be free.  She wanted to discover all the nooks and crannies of the forest Remus and I had discovered as boys, and it was amazing—you'll enjoy this—she was the instigator!  The number of times Remus and I had our legs knocked out from beneath us…and sweet Merlin, I don't think my tail shall ever be the same!  It was amazing…" His eyes took on a far away look.  "I only wish she had had the chance to do this earlier."

"But she has now," pride shone in Cecilia's eyes.  "You two gave her this gift.  Brid—my _mother_ will never forget that."

His own eyes were bright.  "Yes…she was remarkably held together considering the joy she witnessed her mother experience.  Just think, Cecilia.  She's probably never seen Mary so happy."

"No…you're right…" she acquiesced.  Swallowing hard she scanned his face urgently.  "How many more moons do you think she has?"

Sirius' expression grew sober.  "Remus guesses probably one, maybe two at the most."

"But she's not that old!" Cecilia protested.  "She's only in her 80s!  Witches live scores longer than that!"

"Yes, but her body has been through much more than the average witch, dear, and all those transformations shaved years from her life."  His smile was brittle.  As he said the words he refused to allow him mind to apply them to Remus.  _Never_…Remus' life was so different from Mary's.  Surely he wouldn't leave him so soon.  He forcibly pushed the thought from his brain.    

"But I don't want her to die!" Cecilia released a low cry.  She blinked up at him through wet lashes.  "She's my _family…_"

With great solemnity, Sirius released her hands and walked around the table to stand next to her.  With a low keening sound, she fell into his arms and began to cry.  "Shh…Cecilia, it will be okay.  Shh…"  She continued to weep, pressing her face tight against his chest.  Sirius' hands moved helplessly across her back, over her hair, down her shoulders.  The entire time he wished for Remus.  Remus always knew the right words to say.

            "They love you, Cecilia.  Never forget that.  And in time, I know you'll learn to love them again."  He lifted her tear streaked face between his thumb and forefinger.  "In fact," he murmured, "I know you already do."

Carefully he lifted her to her feet and gently guided her to the stairs.  "Come, I need to change out of this hideous outfit," she released a little sniffle, "and you've got to make yourself pretty—or whatever it is that you girls are so fond of doing.  Although, the amount of time Remus spends in the bathroom I'm not quite sure that he doesn't fancy himself a girl."

"And here, I thought that was _you_," Cecilia quipped.

Sirius guffawed.  He squeezed her tight against his side and ruffled her hair.  "My dear Cecilia, my dear, dear Cecilia.  How much you have to learn!  Get on with you now.  They're all waiting for us."


	18. The Silver Kiss

A/N:  Aiiieeeee!!!  I've been *horrible* about updating!!  I know, I know…but I did promise that I'd get this chapter out before OotP on Saturday.  So that counts for something, right?  To my wonderful reviewers—Abbey Road, Susan, Jaderising, Chi, Joey Potter, the Mariannes and the Celestials…I love you guys!!  Only three more chapters and an epilogue left! So here's a question for you…one of the primary characters is going to meet an untimely end (and no, I'm not taking about the bad guys here…).  Any guesses????

Chapter 18: The Silver Kiss

            "Follow me, Mr. Lupin."

            Remus trailed behind the tall, broad-shoulder wizard, their footsteps knocking eerily against the cold stone slabs.  His lips set themselves in a firm, implacable line as he surveyed his surroundings.  Step by step he found himself being led further away from the sunlight, locked against all sounds of the mortal world.  The animated staccato of dripping water served as an undercurrent of timpani to the whorls of wind whistling though the crisscrossed timbres of the ceiling.  Remus shivered and thought of other prisons.  

             At a large iron door barred by several sliding locks the width of a grown man's arm the two men stopped.  Remus, not a superiorly tall man by any means, ducked under the frame and walked a few paces to the center of the room.  His trunk sat at the foot of an old wood frame bed and an iron candelabrum cast a blue white glow to the four walls.  Eyes narrowing he turned his face up towards the ceiling.  Four square windows, one on each wall proved to him that it was still dawn, and yet even the brilliance of the sun was swallowed by the cold granite walls…walls which appeared capable of consuming warmth of any sort.

            He estimated the windows to be several meters higher than he and the combined efforts of every scrap of furniture in the room could reach.  With no wand Remus knew he was trapped.  Locked away until later this morning when they would come for him.

            The pillowcase was rough under his cheek and smelled of the moldiness unique to all prison chambers.  Long legs curled forward up under his robes until his knees were pressed against his chest.  The soft velvet lining of his cloak felt fresh and clean against the fevered flesh of his neck.  

            His stomach felt hollow.  

            Slowly he pulled his legs closer to his body, pressed hard with hands that seemed determined to shake, and squeezed until it dawned on him that perhaps he was holding on for another reason entirely.  As if by stopping the tremors in his physical sense he would be able to control the trembling of his spirit.  

            The first finger on his left hand lifted, paused, and traced the line of his lower lip—the part of his flesh that had last touched Sirius.  A drop of blood pooled and slid down his jaw.  His bruised eyelids sank then closed as softly he began to breathe long, deep labored breaths…

            His last coherent thought before he mercifully fell asleep was that if this was comfortable by Whitney's standards than the young man was in serious need of a new vocabulary lesson.

**********

            In a corridor five stories below the exhausted man, Sirius began to pace.   

            Somewhere, he thought with a cold sense of despair, Remus was being held captive, tortured, ridiculed, _hated_.  And with the mind of one who had been through every sort of torture, he knew it wouldn't be easy to find the words necessary for soothing once Remus was released.  That at least was a comforting thought, for release was a matter of timing, not a matter of certainty in Sirius' estimation.

            His paced.  Somewhere out of the corner of his eye he became aware of Cecilia matching his stride, step by angry step.  The violet ribbon tying her hair jerked with angry little bobs.  

            "Cecilia," he barked.

            She raised mutinous eyes to his and said stubbornly, "I won't."

            Sirius' patience hung on a thread.  His hands twisted in the pockets of his charcoal gray trousers.  "Cecilia," he began again, this time with a bit more control, "I need you—no I am _asking_ you to please go wait with Molly and Hermione.  I'm fine.  I just need to be alone for a bit."

            "You're up to something," she said accusingly.  "I'm not completely daft."

            He exhaled sharply.  The knot on his tie was choking him.  "I swear by the Marauder's Pledge that I am _not_ up to something," he held up two fingers for emphasis.  Cecilia scowled.  "Try to understand.  I know you mean well but—"

            "You promised him!" she cried.  "And I swore to him that I'd watch out for you."  Sirius stared at her with surprise.  "You've been watching that door for hours now and I'm not going to simply go back on my word so that you can get into mischief—"

            "Fine, fine," Sirius muttered.  "Don't fly into a fit," he paused, considering.  "And I've _not_ been staring."  She shrugged.    

            "I'm not going out there where they're going to question and question me.  I'm already going to have to explain my involvement.  I don't want a bunch of bossy women picking on me all morning."

            Sirius wondered what Molly and Hermione would think of Cecilia's assessment.  Personally he sympathized with the girl—he, too, had escaped to this room to avoid their penetrating stares and inevitable round of questions.  "They mean well," he said lamely.

            Almost as if by intuition the door to the chamber burst open.  Sirius turned with annoyance.  Molly stood in the entrance, her face pale and lined.     

            "Oh my dear," she bustled into the room, a force of energy swathed in navy robes and a halo of honeysuckle perfume.  Before Sirius could protest she wrapped him in her arms.  Her knot of flaming hair tickled his nose.  

            "Molly," he protested feebly.  

            "No, not a word."  Molly held him at arms width and eyed him critically.  All at once Sirius was relieved that his fashion sensibilities had kicked in at the last minute.  Still her well worn fingers smoothed barely perceptible wrinkles from the collar of his robe.  "I've brought breakfast.  You need to eat.  Both of you," she glanced at Cecilia assessing her with the experienced eye of a mother.  Cecilia squirmed.

            "Hermione," Molly called loudly.  "Drat," she muttered when Hermione and the food failed to appear.  "Her—"

            "Sirius!"

            Hermione rushed into the room pulling in her wake a small wrinkled creature.  "Sirius," she said breathlessly.  "I've found him!  It's Toopy.  Culpepper's former house elf."

            Toopy took a hesitant step.  His knobby little legs shook beneath his shirt.  Hermione gave his shoulder with a gentle encouraging nudge.  

            "Mi—Mister Black, Toopy is…"

            Sirius was touched.  He knelt on the floor and locked eyes with the little elf.  "Toopy," he said solemnly.  "I'm honored to meet you."  His blue eyes met Hermione's quickly.  "Toopy," he cleared his throat.  "I've a favor to ask you, and before you say anything I want to assure you that you're not to be harmed ever again."

            The elf's throat worked nervously.  

            "You see," Sirius continued in a manner he had learned from Remus, "you posses the ability to help us in a very special way.  You know information about your former Master no one else does and that makes you, Toopy, very important."

            "Toopy is important, sir?" his small smock puffed with pride.

            "Indeed."  Sirius drew from the inside pocket of his robe a small square picture.  "My family."  It was his favorite memory, a photo he had been carrying since Elizabeth's departure.  It had been taken three days after Elizabeth's arrival, at a moment when he had snuck up on a sleeping Remus and stood watching with glee as Elizabeth colored the front of the sleeping man's shirt with a red marker.  Toopy grinned at the expression on Remus' face as the marker was thrust up his nose.  

            Sirius laughed along with the rest of them.  

            Toopy smiled with glee.  "Sir is getting in trouble!"  And indeed in the photo it was quite clear that Remus was scolding someone outside the range of the picture even as he worked to extract the firmly lodged marker.  Sirius pocketed the photo.  

            Finally the elf spoke.  "Toopy knows what sir is wanting…and Toopy is willing to speak."

            "Oh Toopy, thank you…thank you," Hermione cried softly.  Then to the surprise of everyone present, she wrapped the little elf in a tight hug.  

            Sirius swallowed hard.  His eyes caught a movement at the door and he nodded in acknowledgement.  Whitney stepped forward.

            "They're assembling."      

            His voice, while possessing not a trace of menace, managed to burst the levity of the moment.  Crystal gray eyes widened with surprise at the sight of Toopy in Hermione's arms.  "Toopy," Whitney said in greeting.  "Glad to see you could join us."  Toopy extracted himself from Hermione's arms and rushed towards the tall man.

            "Oomph."  Whitney rocked back on his heels as the little whirlwind of energy knocked into his knees.  He awkwardly patted the wrinkled skin pressed against the fine fabric of his trousers.  

            "Master is too kind," the little elf wept.  "Too, too kind to poor Toopy…"

            "Err…"

            Two wet spots appeared on Whitney's legs.  "Toopy's friends are free!  Free!"  He rounded on the rest of the room and smiled a wide watery-eyed smile.  "Master is giving Toopy's friend clothes!  Toopy's friends is no longer serving Master Culpepper!"  He let out a strangled high-pitched wail of glee and proceeded to honk his nose loudly.

            Whitney flushed under the gaze of four very surprised sets of eyes.  

            "I knew Culpepper's mansion had been destroyed but I never thought…" Hermione breathed in stunned disbelief.  

            Sirius laughed shortly.  "I reckon this has been quite an adjustment for your grandfather."

            "Quite," Whitney returned dryly.  

            "Food," Molly fretted.  "Whitney, dear, you must eat.  How are you to help our dear boy on an empty stomach?"  Sirius thought immediately of his mother.  "…and furthermore," Molly was still scolding, "not a single one of you look as if you've slept!  I should think you would know better…children…"  She scurried about setting out plates of food and bottles of drink from a hamper Hermione had summoned.  

            Everyone gathered about the table obediently.  Whitney's eyes flitted nervously towards the clock on the wall.

            "Ma'am…" he began, one hand spreading butter on his muffin while the other stirred his tea sloppily.  

            "Nonsense," Molly retorted.  "What's the difference?  Either we sit in there waiting for hours, or you sit here out of the eye of that horrible woman with plenty of food."

            Sirius' eyebrows raised in alarm.  "Woman?" he choked on a bit of dry bread.

            "That horrid Rita Skeeter," Molly nearly growled.  "I swear that woman seems to hold a personal vendetta against every member of my family.  All those times she's attacked my poor Arthur…and you don't even want to get me started on what she's done to my Harry."  Everyone shook their heads.  "And now you and Remus and that dear baby…" Sirius chewed quickly.  Molly nodded with approval.  "Good, then there'll be no more nonsense.  Eat.  Cecilia, you, too.  I want to see those plates emptied."

            Cecilia turned to Sirius.  He smiled sideways and ate a spoonful of marmalade.

**********

            "That's him…" Harry pointed to a man with a stern countenance leaning against the judge's stand talking quietly with Amos Diggory.  Slicked back silver hair crowned a craggy face.  Whatever Amos was whispering certainly appeared not to agree with him.  "Sir Mortimer Harrington.  The Ministry's lead counsel.  He's a close friend to Robert Culpepper."

            "So much for impartiality," Ron grumbled.  

            Harry sucked in his breath.  She had arrived.  The absolute personification of evil according to Hermione.

            "Harry?" Ron nudged him impatiently.  "What's wrong?"

            "Nothing," Harry muttered.  "Look there.  It's Lancaster."

            "Where?" Ron sat up with a snap.  His eyes scanned the room quickly and rested on a tall woman who had joined Harrington and Amos' discussion.  "But…but she's old!" he sputtered.  Harry peered at him quizzically.  "I—I—well, I just expected someone younger with the way you were all describing her."

            Harry sat back on the hard wood chair.  The sense of disquiet that had settled against his soul the instant he had stepped foot into the room had reverberated the instant Lancaster had entered the room.  He knew this place…it resonated deep within the core of his mind and the memory of it yanked forth images of another trial, of another person fighting for his freedom.  And while it was a different era and certainly a different situation, Harry couldn't shake off the foreboding sense of dread that whispered promises of yet another charade—a pretense of a trial with a pre-determined outcome.

            "Voldemort wasn't young," Harry said quietly.  Ron blanched.

            "Look," Ron breathed.  Harry's eyes shifted away from Lancaster and grew dark.  Sirius stood at the mouth of one of the many hallways which cut between the rows of seats stretching up to the ceiling.  The round room, mimicking the great amphitheaters of the old theatrical days, was the perfect staging for this spectacle.  Harry watched as Sirius scanned the room.  Even from this distance he could see the haunted expression on a face that had seen too many nightmares…eyes that had at another time born witness to a chain of events in this very place.  Harry followed his gaze to the single wooden chair situated in the very center of the room atop a small circular platform.  

            Metal shackles glistened in the sunlight pouring through the skylights above.

            A cold curtain fell across Sirius' haggard features, and suddenly Harry knew what it was that outsiders said chilled them most about Sirius Black.  It was the way his face could be both void of expression and yet so singular in its intent with diamond sharp eyes capable of piercing the soul of the person trapped beneath their gaze.  

            Green eyes met blue; Sirius nodded his head at Harry and Ron.

            "If I didn't know him, I'd say I'd hate to have him sit by me," Ron squawked.  Harry smiled grimly.  Sirius hadn't been able to scare him since their introduction nearly ten years ago, and yet he understood Ron.  Sirius' countenance today sent shivers up his own spine.  

"Harry, Ron."  

            They stood quickly, awkwardly, with the embarrassed air of one who had been caught gossiping.  "Sirius," they chorused.

            Many faces in the courtroom turned towards the three men and little flashes of white peppered the room.  Sirius frowned.  "Reporters?  Here?"

            Harry's face was grim.  "Whitney's already issued a complaint with the council.  Seems that someone leaked the pass code to the public and it's a zoo out there."  Sirius' body shifted awkwardly to scan the doors leading from the room.  

            "I can't believe it," he muttered crossly.  "No, I _can_ believe it, bloody fucking reporters."  With a disgusted snort he crossed his legs and sat with a petulant frown on his handsome face.  

            "Where's the lot?"

            Harry and Ron exchanged glances.  "Er...Dad and Charlie are trying to do damage control," Ron gestured towards the low rumble of voices clearly detectable through the thin walls.  "And Percy's with Mary and Bridget and Ginny's…" he trailed off and looked questioningly at Harry.

            Who shrugged and said with a trace of concern, "I'm not quite sure _where Ginny is actually.   I thought she was with your mum."  They all looked towards the door Sirius had entered.  In a small cluster were the bodies of Molly, Hermione, Toopy and Cecilia.  Whitney stood off to the side speaking to a man none of them recognized.  Ginny was no where in sight.    _

            Ron scratched, Harry fiddled with his glasses, and Sirius twitched.  

            "Goddamn it…" Sirius plunked his foot angrily on the ground.  "Where is he?"  The pallor of his face alarmed Harry.  Just as he was about to ask Sirius if he could get him anything, Sirius dropped his head in his hands.  "Please," his strangled voice was muffled.  "Please…I just need a minute alone…"

            Harry and Ron stood quietly and walked down the stairs leading to the main floor.  They approached the gathering at the door.  No words were exchanged.  Everyone stood about, uncertain whether to move or simply remain as they were.  

            Finally Harry broke the silence.  "Have you seen Ginny?"

            Molly's eyes darted about.  "I saw her just before we went in for breakfast…" she patted Harry's shoulder.  "Sweet Merlin, why am I so twitchy?" she complained plaintively.  Everyone laughed nervously.  

            "Mum!"

            Through the closed door they could hear the faint sound of Ginny's voice.  Harry spun about and rushed forward, brushing rudely past Whitney.  "Ginny?" he called pushing the door open.  Immediately he was bombarded by camera flashes and the yell of vicious reporters.

            "Harry!  Harry Potter!  What is your role today at the trial of the most deranged werewolf in all of England?"

            "Harry!  Who do you support—Remus Lupin or the Committee faction?"

            "Harry!  Which do you prefer?  Death by an axe or by a silver steak?"

            Harry halted in his tracks.  His hand reached reflexively for his wand.  Red swam in front of his eyes.

            "Harry!  Oh Harry!"  Ginny pushed her way through the crowd.  Tears streaked her cheeks.  Just as she reached for his outstretched hand a reporter turned abruptly and pushed her to the ground.

            With a roar of outrage, Harry's fist connected with the man's jaw, knocking the other man's glasses to the ground.  "You idiot," he hissed as he pulled Ginny awkwardly into his arms.  "You're more concerned with the hysteria than the truth.  Look at you!  Flocking like sheep to a trial that celebrates the mockery of human rights—"

            "Harry," Ginny whispered.  Her cheeks were stained red as she fumbled to straighten her robes.  

            "No!  I've had enough," he said fiercely.  "I know first hand the asinine stories these fuckwits dare to call the truth and—" Suddenly he couldn't continue.  The words died on his lips.  His eyes widened.  How dare they…  

            "No, Harry," Ginny gripped his hand hard.  "Look, it's Elizabeth."

            Harry spun around in disbelief.  There at the perimeter of the crowd stood Genevieve—her small frame slowly swallowed by a massive hoard of reporters like a typhoon of hungry locusts.  Held in her arms was Harry's baby sister.  

            "I've been trying to find you but they kept pushing me and asking me questions and I couldn't get close…" Harry stared at Ginny and absorbed her disheveled appearance.  Several sections of her robe were torn and her normally smooth hair was a flyaway mess.  His jaw tightened.  "Are you hurt?" his voice sounded strangled to his own ears.  She shook her head.  Grimly, he gripped her hand tightly in his and wove his way through the frenzy until he stood face to face with the nurse.

            "What," he bit out furiously, "do you mean by bringing her here?"

            Genevieve eyes were red rimmed.  "Ms. Lancaster made me come."

            "Made you come?" Harry asked in stunned disbelief.  "What did she do?  Put the Imperius curse on you?"

            Ginny whispered softly, "Harry…"

            Harry ground his eyes shut.  He had read the truth in Genevieve's eyes.  God, he had never felt such a strong urge to hurt somebody as he did Margaret Lancaster.  "Give her to me," he ordered gruffly.

            "I can't.  She's bound to me."

            "Fine," Harry's voice was frigid.  "You're sitting with me.  God," he raked his hand through his hair and stared at Ginny.  "This is going to kill Remus…and Sirius.  It shouldn't be happening like this."  Ginny's lips were set in a thin line.  All traces of disapproval towards Genevieve had been wiped off her face but for a sharp expression of hate fueled fury.  

            With one hand Harry guided Genevieve and Elizabeth before him, and with the other he held tight to Ginny.  The crowd parted reluctantly as tight expressions of disapproval were their only answer to the frenzied questions sparked by the discovery that the baby was the child the werewolf claimed as his own.

            "Harry!  Harry!"  Harry's eyes slid past all the unknown faces and settled on a flustered young man who had somehow managed to work his way through the hoards of people.  

            Christian Huber stood flanked by a good two dozen Hogwarts students all sporting their house colors and bright flashing "Families First!" badges.  He smiled encouragingly, his curly brown hair framing his flushed face.  The smile widened as Elizabeth cooed in recognition and reached out to grab his nose.

            "Lizzie," he grinned down at the little girl.  Doug, Clayton and Michael stared curiously at the baby.

            "Is this she?" Michael asked.  Christian nodded proudly.  Michael looked past the baby and glanced at Harry appraisingly.  "You're missing something, I reckon."

            Harry glanced down at his person.  He raised an eyebrow in question.

            Doug stepped forward and quickly pinned a badge onto Harry's robes.  "It's only proper, you know," he grinned in a friendly fashion.  Harry smiled his thanks and watched as Clayton moved to do the same to Ginny.  His grin faded as he watched Clayton's hands creep a little too close to a certain area of Ginny' chest.

            "Oi!" Christian smacked Clayton on the back of the head.  

Ginny blushed furiously and fumbled with her pin.  Harry grinned wryly.  The badge hung upside down.  "Thank you," he said sincerely.  The boys nodded and stepped back to let them pass, Clayton and Christian assuming the role of crowd marshals, pushing the greedy reporters to the side.

"Goodbye Lizzie!" Christian called after their retreating forms.  The little girl lifted her hand.  His smile ebbed.  

Harry paused.  He turned and walked back to where Christian stood watching, his hand fisting a stack of badges.  "Christian," he said quietly so that no one could overhear.  "I know what today means to you."  Christian nodded jerkily.  "And I wanted to give you a message from Remus."  

Christian looked away.  His eyes sparkled but for a moment and Harry wondered if perhaps he had imagined it.  

He continued gently, wisely, thinking back on all the times people in his own life had offered their wisdom to him during the difficult uncertain times.  "He said to tell you that he knows this isn't easier than the real thing but that he has faith…and that you, too, must believe.  Be strong...for today, for tomorrow, and your uncle, through you, shall be redeemed," Harry paused.  "He also said to tell you he's proud of you."  Christian lowered his eyes.  Harry placed his hand hesitantly on the other boy's arm.  He felt awkward and out of place, but perhaps that was part of becoming a man.  Silently he stepped away leaving Christian alone with his words.

*********

            "Kill him!"

            "The monster…"

            "Despicable beast…"

            Remus straightened his spine and tried to see through the thick wooden door that served as the only barrier between him and the vortex of madness.  He cursed his lupine hearing that enable him with the gift of hearing each and every one of those damning words.  

            "Move."

            He shuffled forward, his movements made clumsy by the shackles bound tightly to his ankles and wrists.  He was all too aware of the silver edge stick held inches from his back should he make to run.  Little did these asinine guards know that there was absolutely nothing he would do to satisfy their insatiable need for humiliating him.  He had proudly born his scars these many decades past and would give no man the satisfaction of seeing him fall to his knees.  Silver stick or not.

            The door flew open as if by the force of a mighty propelling spell.  Remus blinked in the harsh brightness of the room.  Even though he had been secluded in the darkness of his cell for only a few short hours his eyes struggled to adapt to the brightness made worse by the endless camera flashes.

            A roar of outrage flooded the room—cries of dismay quickly swallowed by the horrific screams of blood thirsty cravings.  Remus trembled slightly.  It seemed to his highly sensible way of thinking that to find the true monsters one only needed to look about the room.  

Stumbling, he was forced towards the chair in the center of the room.  

And then his heart stopped.  _No!_  His mind screamed.  _It can't be…__Elizabeth_.  Panic filled eyes zeroed in on his daughter crying in Genevieve's arms.  "Elizabeth!" he cried hoarsely.  Rage unlike anything he had ever experienced threatened to snap his limbs in two.  The main vein in his neck throbbed and pulsed.  He was dimly aware of the guards hurling threats at his head.  

"…move you beast!"

The din in Remus' brain subsided as the burly arm of one of his jailors shoved him hard in the back.  Taken by surprise by the force of the contact and still off center by the shock of seeing his daughter, Remus felt his legs give way.  

            The most horrific sound pierced the roar of the courtroom.  Remus crashed to the floor, writhing on the cold stone.  The back of his robe bore the circular mark of the end of the silver stick; the singed curled edges of the frayed fabric smoldering.  The overpowering stench of burnt flesh spiraled upwards and about, filling the room with a putrid odor.  

            Sirius' scream took over that of Remus' as the injured man lay panting on the floor.  Harry, Arthur, Ron and Charlie held tight to straining, crazed man as he tried desperately to break free.

            With a flash of white robes, Whitney hurtled over the wall separating his bench from the main floor.  He sprinted to Remus' side and with a quick spell sent the bodies of the three guards sprawling to the floor into groaning heaps.  

            "Your Honor," Whitney roared, penetrating the thickness of Sirius' cries.  "This behavior is completely unwarranted, unjustifiable and vindictive.  I demand a minute with my client to ascertain the severity his wounds.  Perhaps," gray eyes filled with a frightful hate narrowed in on Harrington, Lancaster, Macnair and Culpepper.  "Perhaps because of the folly of these imbeciles the trial shall have to be postponed until my client is healed."

            "Five minutes," the Lord Chancellor snapped.  "And you," he rounded on the groaning guards.  "Out of my sight."

            Remus curled on his side and tried to breath through his mouth.  His mother's words circled through his head as he tried to remember what she would say when the post transformation pains were at their worst.  _"Breath my little one…breath deeply, let the pain out with each breath of air.  The pain just wants to be released, that's why it struggles so hard…"  And so he gasped great bursts of shoulder racking breaths as he struggled to move past the attacking red purple army of pain._

            "…Remus…Remus, can you hear me?"  Whitney's voice was so very far away.  "Remus we can ask for adjournment.  They can't make you stand trial in your condition. Remus we can postpone—"

            "…no," Remus managed to croak.  "No…no postponement.  Must go on.  Need…to…start…"

            "Okay, all right," Whitney's concern shattered a little more of the pain.  "Remus, if this is what you wish you must allow me to bring in a Mediwizard to take care of your back and—" he broke off as Remus screamed again.  

            Through slanted eyes Remus could make out bare traces of frantic worry flashing across Whitney's face.  If only the younger man would stay in focus.  A sudden sharp flash of fiery pain slashed across his spine forcing his abdomen to press outward as if his whole body was trying to distance itself from the epicenter of pain.  "Whitney," he moaned as his eyes rolled back, "The MediWizard…please…please…help me…"

            Stumbling to his feet in a movement of frantic fury, Whitney scanned the crowd.  "I need a MediWizard!" he cried hoarsely.  Everyone froze.  No one moved.  Sirius no longer screamed but continued to struggle against the bonds of the men holding him back.  

            An unsettling feeling of hopelessness flowed though the crowd.  Aside from the most staunch werewolf haters, the majority of the crowd suffered a ripple of remorse.  But they could only sit and watch helplessly, none of them aware of the antidote.

            Just as Remus thought he could bear the pain no longer, a high voice piped up in the crowd.  "I'll help him."  He forced his eyes open and struggled to bring into focus the slight figure that made her way down the staircase.  

            "Thank you," he sighed as the blurred movement went in and out of focus.  "Dear god, thank you…"  A cool soft hand touched his forehead.  Almost immediately Remus felt the splitting tension in his head lesson.  

            "Professor Lupin, please, I need you to roll over completely," the gentle voice instructed.  

            "Professor…once I was a professor," Remus murmured through his haze as he did what she instructed.  "…no longer…"

            "You were always my favorite professor," the soothing voice gently peeled the scorched fabric away from Remus skin.  He winced as layers of skin fell away with the cloth.  "I'm sorry…I know it hurts but I need to expose the whole area before I can heal it properly."

            "Do I know you?" the pain was making him loopy.  _Loony Loopy Lupin.  Peeves…  Remus smiled foolishly.  He felt Whitney squeeze his hand. _

            "I'm Parvati Patil," she said as the last section of fabric was pulled away.  "Now this is going to sting but I promise you it'll feel much better once I do this.  Just exhale and let the pain go."

            "That's what my mother said," Remus said dreamily.  "Parvati Patil…you _are_ a Gryffindor, aren't you?"  She giggled then clamped her lips shut.  "Ah yes…_definitely Parvati."  He opened one eye and tilted his face over his shoulder to see her better.  She appeared as he remembered.  Dark shiny black hair tucked behind her ears, black, black expression filled eyes that at the moment sparkled with tears.  "It's good to see you," he murmured before pressing his face onto the cold floor.  Dear god, the pain was excruciating—worse than a million transformations...  _

            He could hear the sounds of Parvati and Whitney speaking overhead, but for the first time in his life he couldn't make out the words.  Perhaps he was dying?  "Am I going to die?" he asked dreamily.

            Parvati gasped.  "No!" she said ferociously.  "You wouldn't let a little bit of silver cut you down, Professor Lupin, would you?  C'mon, breathe out…exhale…that's it…deeper…again…"

            Remus followed her instructions as best he could, and after awhile he felt something on his spine beyond that of the burning sensation of the silver.  Something slick and cool pooled over and about his blistered skin, seeping deep into his pores.  "Ahhh…" he could almost feel Parvati and Whitney smile with relief.  But something needed to be corrected…_two_ somethings actually.  "Parvati, is there a course you could take in MediWizard school that would teach you the varying degrees of quantity because if this is what you would call a little bit of silver than I pray to god I never discover what a lot is… and Whitney," he turned his head to glare at the white faced man kneeling next to him on the floor.  "Your vocabulary could you a bit of refreshing.  Sweet Merlin," he shuddered.  "I warned Albus of the danger of omitting courses in vocabulary and English from the curriculum.  Your idea of comfortable on a scale of one to ten deserves to be ranked well in the negative side."  He felt a burst of satisfaction at the stunned look spreading across Whitney's face.  "Good…now that this has been settled…" he shut his eyes for a fleeting moment.

            "There you are, Professor Lupin," Parvati uttered a quick mending charm and Remus' robe sealed itself over the bandaged section of his back.  The blinding pain was diminishing rapidly.

            "Help me stand," Remus croaked.  Parvati and Whitney hoisted him awkwardly to his feet.  Carefully they escorted him to the chair and removed the shackles that bound his wrists and ankles.  Parvati transformed a bandage into a polka-dotted pillow, adjusted Remus against the soft feathers and smiled apologetically at the outlandish colors.  She gave him a fleeting unreadable look then climbed back up the stairs to the viewing area.

Whitney appraised Remus silently.  His haunted eyes moved beyond Remus' face to a spot just beyond the injured man's view.  A minute passed, and then another.  Finally he walked back to his bench without saying a word.  

            Remus sat gingerly in the chair and flexed his wrists.  He grimaced as a lingering spasm of pain passed across his back.  From the corner of his eye he could detect the very satisfied smiles on the faces of his accusers.  

            "May we continue, Mr. Whitney?" the Chief Counsel asked in aggrieved tones.

            Whitney nodded.

            "It is the order of the court on this day of November 25th in the year two thousand—"

            "Excuse me, your Honor, if I may interrupt…"  All eyes riveted towards the steely haired man standing behind the Ministry's bench who dared to interrupt the Lord Chancellor himself.  Harrington raised his hand in mock apology and moved through the little swinging gate separating his bench from the floor to stand in front of Remus.  Remus eyed him narrowly.  

            With a condescending air, Harrington gestured towards Remus' chair.  "Your Honor, I must insist that the accused be strapped in."

            A cry of dismay filtered through the crowd as Remus' supporters protested this new outrage.  Whitney sprung to his feet, his mouth poised to protest.

            Harrington smiled smugly.  The Lord Chancellor considered for a minute.  "As you wish. Harrington, _you_ can shackle the accused."  Harrington's mouth dropped.  He clamped his lips shut in disgust and grimly jerked the leather cords tight across Remus' ankles and wrists, snapping the metal bands tight.  

            "May I continue?" the Lord Chancellor asked dryly once Harrington resumed his seat.

            On and on the cold steel of his voice droned a litany of charges set forth by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures:

            "…violation of Section 1521 outlined in the Werewolf Code of Conduct…"

            "…past precedent clearly shows a disregard for the formality of rules…"

            "…a biological hunger for human flesh that has been substantiated by centuries of formal medical studies…"

            "…children are the most susceptible to the werewolf's cravings and should be protected at all costs.  This werewolf's blatant disregard for the Ministry's platform for child safety violates Conduct Code 23 and 37…"

            "…and lastly, it has been decreed as such that dangerous creatures under the monitoring of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures lack any identifying human genetic makeup and are therefore prohibited from entering into parenting contracts or any other such behavior ruled to be strictly human in nature."

            The Lord Chancellor's penetrating stare moved over the top of his glasses to settle on Remus.  "Mr. Remus Lupin, you have been charged with five Ministry infractions of the most grievous nature.  How do you plead?"

            Remus voice rang clear throughout the courtroom.  "Not guilty."

**********

            Sirius unclenched his fists.  Remus had been lead through the door to the antechamber not two minutes prior and already he felt physical loss at his absence.  The pain was acute and all consuming.  He wondered how much longer he would be able to rein in his fury.  As it was…  

            "You're bleeding."

            Harry's voice interrupted his mental litany of curses.  Tiny red cuts lined the centers of both palms, smeared streaks of blood marring the calloused flesh.  

            "I want to see him."  Sirius turned his eyes back to the closed door.  "Did you see what they did to him?" he croaked, "How they laughed?"

            A gentle hand touched the top of his tousled hair.  Sirius didn't look up…wouldn't look up.  He didn't want to witness the sympathy pouring from the eyes of his friends…friends who had no right to bear witness to Remus' humiliation.  Suddenly Sirius was furious with the so-called "werewolf supporters."  He wanted to punch something…punch something hard and not stop until sinew and bone formed as one.

            He had long ago decided that death was far too just for Lancaster and Culpepper.

            After a minute he felt them drift away.  One by one they left his side, abandoning him to the misery of his thoughts.  It was what he wanted, what he had asked for, but as he sat clenching and unclenching his hands, unable to look at his daughter who sat quietly in Genevieve's lap, Sirius allowed himself to wonder for the first time if things were truly going to work out.  All traces of optimism had been discarded as exercises in futility; his hope halted the minute the guards stabbed Remus with the silver.    

            Sweet Merlin, the memory of Remus lying on the floor and he in the stands unable to help burned deep.  It wasn't in his nature to bear witness as a helpless bystander.  Only once had he intentionally failed his friends and for twelve long years he had punished himself.  Closing his eyes he wondered how long he'd have to pay to make amends this time.  Was life ever really long enough?  Were there truly enough minutes in a day?

            His head hung.  In his state of consuming misery he was incapable of feeling anything but the fear.  The prospect of losing the one constant in a life made up of connected patchwork squares was positively terrifying.  Sirius lurched to his feet.  "I need air."  He stumbled past the row of chairs, over feet he was hardly aware of trampling, and down the steep flight of stairs.  His heavy shoes were clumsy on the cold floor.

            "Sirius!  Wait!"

            He could hear Harry calling after him, imploring him to stop.  He tripped as a powerful grip grabbed his shoulders.  "Don't go out there, Sirius," Harry warned.  "You'll not like what you see."

            Sirius tried to twist free and couldn't.  "Let go of me," he hissed.

            "I can see it in your face—you'll do something you'll end up regretting.  I know you.  I know how you operate.  You think what you're doing at the time is the only way, but it's not.  It'll cost you, Sirius."

            "Cost me?" Sirius stared at Harry in disbelief.  "_Cost me?" he repeated.  Harry's grip loosened.  "You tell me what I should have done, what I should have felt watching them nearly kill him!" his voice escalated.  Several people turned their way.  _

            Harry glanced about uncomfortably and tried again.  "I know, but Sirius it'll only make things worse for him if you do anything to incur the Lord Chancellor's anger and emotionally you—"

            "Fuck the Lord Chancellor," Sirius flung back at him in shaking fury.  "He sat there watching…_watching…doing nothing.  A man was dying in his courtroom!  Call that impartiality if you want, but I call it bullshit."  _

"Your daughter—"

A tortured expression filled Sirius' stormy eyes.  Furiously he broke free of Harry's hands and ran down the steps and out of the room.  The doors crashed shut.

**********

            The heat of the corridor combined with the presence of too many bodies made the air putrid and unwelcoming.  Tired of running across people of little importance puffed up with pride to have been included at the trial of the century, disgruntled reporters lowered their cameras and closed their notebooks.  An agitated hum pulsed throughout the crowd as the spectators grew antsy.  Already the general complaint was that there weren't nearly enough audience seats in the courtroom, and along the long whitewashed walls lethargic, disgruntled bodies slumped.

            Sirius slammed the doors shut and fell against the heavy frame.  He breathed deeply and nearly choked.  "What the hell…?" he muttered looking up for the first time.  What he saw nearly robbed him of his breath.  

            Camped out in a corridor well beyond maximum capacity were two hundred sets of bright, frenzied eyes all turned on one point.  Him.

            He drew in a ragged breath and let his eyes roam across their faces.  His gaze lingered on the signs they held, read the bright script, took in the detailed pictures.  Whirling flashes of color shone on some of the spectators' robes while others, dressed in formal Ministry attire, bore the black ribbon of death.

            It was as if the entire crowd had been struck dumb.  Feeling as if he were in some weird alternate reality, Sirius wriggled his fingers alongside the folds of his robes until he found his wand.  He looked uneasily at the men no more than five paces in front of him, cameras hanging limply from their necks.  This is what Harry was warning me about, he thought, his mind puzzling over their strange behavior.

            The unnatural silence was broken at last by the sharp, unmistakable sound of an axe splintering wood.  It was as if a director's cue had been issued.  Every single reporter's camera flew into action, questions tumbling from over-eager maddened lips.  The werewolf supporters' chants rumbled and swelled only to be drowned out by the blood thirsty fracas from the Committee's faction.

            Sirius stood stunned by the unmitigated hatred pouring forth from men he had no knowledge of.  Men whose hatred was based on principles so ingrained within their very nature that liberation was not an option.  These people with their signs of replaying execution scenes made him sick.  

            "My daughter!  This was my daughter before—and this is what she was when her mother found her!" A man's anguished cry rang out above the ruckus.  

            A lovely little girl no more than five danced across a silver framed sign.  Purple violets flitted from her hands as she twirled in a circle.  Five seconds later the image morphed in a whirlpool of colors…purples bled into crimsons, whites were changelings as black dots pierced and devoured the almost tangible happiness of the child.

            As if the sight weren't damning enough, the accompanying sounds served to underscore the message.  Wild keening reverberated against the walls as a woman with long dark hair crawled across the picture to gather the broken body of her child against her chest.  The little girl's throat was a slash of crimson against the cool white of her mother's robe.  Lifeless, haunted eyes permanently frozen in time bore into the soul of every person daring enough to look.

            Waves of shock and fury passed through Sirius.  But the emotions were not for the little girl, nor were they for her parents—her father who stood in the center of a wide circle, tears pooling in his eyes.

            Sirius could only think of Remus.  Saw Remus' body lying there limply against his mother's chest.  Felt the penetrating stare from Remus' golden eyes boring into his soul damning him for being normal, for being unmarked.

            Sirius knew then what it was that had frightened Harry the most.  It was not the violence that usually played hand in hand with the strongest of his emotions, but the guilt, the resulting self-hatred these reminders brought to a man's soul.  And Sirius knew then that Remus must never see these pictures…would never see them.  He'd burn them all, halt the words before they were ever uttered less they stir old ghosts.

            Turning without ever uttering a word, Sirius opened the doors to the courtroom and left the tortuous reality of the outside world.  

            He entered without really knowing what he wanted to say, how he wanted to feel.  Mindlessly, he crossed the wide distance, passed along the circular rows of seats, and up the stairs to where his friends were waiting.  He could easily read the wary concern upon all their faces, could feel their eyes appraising his appearance for tell-tale signs of an altercation.

            Sirius smiled ruefully as he squeezed his large frame along the narrow aisle.  "Pardon," he said politely to a witch whose foot he had trod.  

            "Sirius," a voice called his name.  The concern rang in Sirius' weary ears.  He glanced up.

            Albus Dumbledore stood before him, pale blue eyes assessing in their calm way.

            Sirius swallowed.  "Albus."  For some inexplicable reason, Sirius felt icy fear starting to quake through him, as if his heart understood that something awful was happening.  "I had not thought—I mean, I didn't think…"

            A wrinkled hand was raised.  "I know when I'm needed," was all he said.  Mary McAllister stood next to him looking ashen and fragile.  

            Suddenly Sirius felt consumed with guilt.  Here he had been thinking only of his own feelings while watching as Remus was tortured.  He had not spared a thought for Mary.  Tightness rose and took grip of his lungs.  "Mary…"

            Mary didn't even smile to spare his feelings, Sirius noted.  She merely regarded him from frank watchful eyes.  Bridget stood behind her, a hand resting on her mother's upper arm.  She, too, seemed to be assessing him.  

            It hit Sirius then that they were telling him wordlessly that there was no reason to apologize.  That they understood completely.  Their silence was their way of ensuring not even the smallest of openings for Sirius to say the words that were already understood.

            "They're returning…"

            Sirius' eyes drifted down below to the floor.  Eleven jurors entered the reserved seating area and robotically took their seats.  On the prosecutor's side, Harrington and his smug posse whispered in a manner meant to be disconcerting.  

            On the other side, Whitney served as Harrington's foil.  Sitting rigidly on his bench he neither spoke nor fidgeted.  Were Sirius not so sure of Remus' unwavering faith in the young man he would have panicked.  As it was, he wished Whitney would do something—anything—if only to set Sirius' nerves at ease.  He suppressed the urge to throw something at that blonde head to see if he would get a reaction.  

            With great reluctance, Sirius took his seat.  Sometime during the course of his observations Genevieve and Elizabeth had moved next to him.  Mouth dry, Sirius ran his calloused thumb across his baby daughter's cheek.  Elizabeth lay asleep in Genevieve's arms, her small mouth parted by soft snores.  Already it had been explained to him the reasons why he couldn't hold his daughter, and for the time being, warned against provoking Margaret's wrath, he had held himself back.  But the urge to snatch his daughter into his arms and never let go was overpowering.

            He tried rather unsuccessfully to content himself by holding her hand.  Margaret, he noted as they waited for the Lord Chancellor to arrive, sat off to the side next to Macnair.  Almost as if she sensed his penetrating glare, she looked up and met his gaze, lips twitching.  Sirius frowned.    

            Suddenly, his attention was diverted to the sound of an opening door.  Remus entered the courtroom, pale and slightly green, but none the worse for wear.  A different guard this time guided him to his seat and locked the shackles. 

            "Remus!" Sirius' heart cried.  Trembling, he watched as Remus gazed about the room, assessing the audience, judging their intent.  When those golden eyes found him within the crowd, Sirius smiled brilliantly and raised Elizabeth's tiny hand in his.  Visible relief flashed across Remus' tired face.  A small secret smile creased the corners of his eyes.  They held each other's eyes as the Lord Chancellor took his seat, kept their mouths lifted in smile as Harrington and Whitney read their opening positions, and drank of each other's love as Harrington read the name of his first witness.

            "The prosecution calls as its first witness Margaret Lancaster, Deputy Caseworker of the Infant Wizard Protection Agency."

            Remus abruptly broke their connection leaving Sirius fuming in the stands.  

            Harrington led Margaret to the witness bench, his hand poised for support under her elbow.  As she was sworn in, she passed a tiny smile to the Lord Chancellor.

            "Miss Lancaster," Harrington folded his hands behind his back and hopped on toes his once.  "You're doing well?" he smiled toothily.

            Sirius could hear Ron and the twins groan.

            Margaret's smile was icy.  "I'm well."

            "Good, good."  Harrington looked pleased.  Considering, he approached the bench where she sat.  "Miss Lancaster, would you please state you relationship with the accused?"

            Her eyes slid over Remus.  "Against my expressed concerns, I authorized a trial visitation period with Mr. Lupin of one of my charges, Elizabeth _Dougray_.  I've since successfully removed the child from his care."  Her steely voice emphasized Elizabeth's last name.

            "Your Honor," Whitney rose to his feet.  A demeanor unlike anything Sirius had ever witness had fallen over his person.  Cool, calculating, crafty, Whitney appeared a barrister born and bred.  "I must insist that the witness answer only the question put forth by the council."

            The Lord Chancellor nodded.  "You've been warned, Miss Lancaster."

            Margaret acquiesced a little too easily in Sirius' estimation.  

            Harrington eyed Whitney with ill concealed contempt.  "So your relationship with Mr. Lupin is that he was at one time a prospective parent.  Hmm…interesting.  Miss Lancaster, at the time of the initial interview, were you aware of his status as a werewolf?"

            "I was."

            "And yet despite Section 1521 which expressly prohibits werewolves from partaking in parenting rights you allowed him to leave with a child?  A registered, dangerous werewolf was allowed to bring a child unsupervised into his home?"

            "Your Honor!  I must argue the implication of the word 'dangerous' as this assumption is purely subjective in nature and—"

            Harrington laughed.  A slimy weasely little chuckle.  "Come, my dear boy.  Surely it has irrefutably been proven that a werewolf by its very nature is dangerous.  Centuries of studies can support my claim.  I hardly see how stating the truth can be deemed subjective."

            "Sit down, Mr. Whitney, and stop interrupting the questioning," the Lord Chancellor barked.

            Sirius' hands trembled.

            "Now Miss Lancaster, as you were."

            "What I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted was that I was forced against my will to grant parenting rights to Mr. Lupin.  I believe that the current Minister, while wise in his decision to issue a decree granting parenting permissions to Mr. Black as reparations for past…er…_situations_ shall we say, made a mistake when he unwisely overlooked the situation at hand."

            "Which is?" Harrington prompted eagerly.

            "That one of the men petitioning for parenting rights is a deadly werewolf."

            "And have you ever granted parenting rights in defiance of Section 1521?"

            "Never.  And I never will.  The well being of the child is far too important.  You've all seen what these beasts are capable of," Margaret turned her penetrating glare on the jurors.  "Ravishing out of control monsters, throats ripped out, blood thirsty, insane…you know the type.  Imagine if one of these beasts got hold of your child."

            Sirius felt Harry's hand firm upon his knee.  Why wasn't Whitney saying anything! His mind screamed in frustration.

            Margaret moved back to Remus, her hate almost tangible in the dead silence of the room.  "There are few things I can't stand in this world, and one of them is an animal who tries to be a chameleon in the human world.  We've hunted your type out before, werewolf, and we'll do it again.  When the axe falls the humans shall be vindicate.  But mark my words, you shan't be the last."


End file.
